


The Mission

by Natasha_Barton



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 50,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4011775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natasha_Barton/pseuds/Natasha_Barton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanoff is on a mission to take down a serial killer, but the job isn't as easy as it originally seems. Some of the characters and events referenced are from my trilogy "The Intrusion"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            It’s 5:14 a.m. when we pull into our driveway, exhausted from another late-night call to clean up the aftermath of a break-in at our friends’ houses. We have Jenna to thank for this one; payback’s a bitch. Clint and I crawl back into bed, not even bothering to change into pajamas, and are asleep again within minutes.

            6:30 comes way too quickly, and I silence my alarm as I drag myself out of bed. I shower, make tea, and rummage through the cupboards for something to eat. I settle for a granola bar and some cheerios; I really need to go grocery shopping. I’m out the door by 7 and on my way to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s temporary headquarters. I find conference room 6B and take a seat, 5 minutes early, as always. Nick walks in a few minutes later with a stack of papers.

            “Is your computer broken?” I ask, eying the pile of mission info warily.

            “Unfortunately, yes, and Tony decided he needed to take a ‘personal day.’ So we’re doing this old-school.”

            “Wonderful,” I mutter sarcastically.

            “I’m going to warn you now, this mission may not be as easy as it sounds. We’re headed to Russia this afternoon to investigate some… disturbances. The suspect appears to be highly trained, which makes him very dangerous. In fact, I’ve even considered bringing Bucky in on this.”

            “I can handle this, Nick. Plus, Bucky had a long night and is likely still in bed.”

            Nick gives me a questioning look.

            “I guess the paperwork hasn’t been processed yet. Someone broke into Bucky and Erin’s house last night. The result was predictable, and I was asked to help clean up the body. Steve should have dropped it off a few hours ago.”

            “Another burglary? You guys are filling up the morgue faster than the criminals in this city.”

            “To be fair, we’re filling it _with_ the criminals in this city.”

            “This is true. Okay, no Bucky. I’ve put together this file with the most important information. You know the drill; look over it, and I’ll meet you in the hangar at 2. We’ll go over everything on the plane.”

            “How long will we be in Russia?”

            “At this point, I’m not sure how long it will take to get rid of this guy. I’m guessing anywhere from 3 days to a week or two.”

            “I’ll try to pack light. See you at 2.”

            Nick nods and starts shifting through paperwork as I leave. An 8 minute drive for a 2 minute meeting. Awesome. At least I’ll get to spend some time at home with Clint before I go.

            7:27, I get back home. Clint’s still asleep, as expected, so I curl up on the couch and log into Netflix. I half pay attention to an episode of Doctor Who as I read through the contents of my mission folder. It looks like I’ll be flying directly to Volgograd, formerly known as Stalingrad, which is coincidentally my hometown. It’s possible I’ll have to travel across the country from there. So far, this maniac has hit Saint Petersburg, Moscow, and, most recently, Volgograd. The bodies are left in the living rooms, minus one family member, who eventually shows up at the next crime scene. A surveillance camera caught some blurry images of the guy; he appears to be around 6’1”, Caucasian, has dark hair, and is somewhere in his 30s or 40s. This doesn’t appear to have much to do with my current line of work, which means I’m just a hired assassin. Apparently Nick thinks I’ll be able to pull off what the entire Russian police force hasn’t; I hope he’s right. The sooner I’m done with this, the better. I’d rather be fighting supervillains that hunting down psychopaths in a country that holds so many bad memories for me.

            The theme music alerts me that the episode is over, and I realize I have no recollection of what I just watched. I give up and go upstairs to start packing. Surprisingly, Clint hasn’t wandered off yet, so I sort through my clothes quietly. His alarm goes off at 8:30, and he seems surprised to see me packing.

            “I thought you only had your debriefing today,” he frowns.

            “That’s what I was hoping for, but my plane leaves at 2.”

            “Where to?”

            “Russia. It looks like a simple assassination of a serial killer. I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

            “How long does Nick think it will take?” Clint asks, sitting up slowly.

            “He’s not sure. I’m hoping only a few days. I don’t want to be there longer than I have to.”

            “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go back? So much happened there.”

            “We all have to face our pasts at some point in our lives; this is just sooner than I wanted to.”

            “Are you really sure?” Clint grabs my hand and pulls me next to him on the bed. “I know you’re tough and can take care of yourself, but maybe you should sit this one out. I’m sure Nick has other people to do the job.” His eyes are full of concern as he wraps his arms around me.

            “I know you’re worried, but I’ll be fine. I already told Nick that I would do it and turned down his offer of help from Bucky. This is something I have to do.”

            “Okay.” Clint kisses the top of my head. We sit there for a few minutes, unwilling to move. Eventually, I pull away to continue packing. “I know you’ve been up for a while and probably already ate, though you couldn’t have eaten much, but let me make you breakfast. Pancakes? Eggs? Bacon?”

            “All of the above,” I grin, thankful that I’ll get at least one good meal before getting on the plane. If the food in Russia is anywhere as bad as I remember, I’m really going to miss Clint’s cooking.

            I finish packing and walk down to the kitchen where I’m greeted by the wonderful aroma of bacon sizzling on the stove. Next to the bacon is a pleasant surprise: hash browns! Clint sets down a plate full of pancakes on the island before turning back to the stove.

            “Geez. Are we having people over for breakfast or something?” Just then, the doorbell rings, answering my question. I open the door to find Jenna and Steve standing on my porch, still visibly groggy from lack of sleep.

            “Clint called to tell us you were leaving today and invited us over for breakfast!” Jenna smiles as she sniffs the air. “Is that bacon I smell?”

            I take a step back so Jenna and Steve can make their way to the kitchen. I turn to follow, but stop when I hear more car doors. It sounds like Clint invited Erin and Bucky, too.

            Pretty soon, the six of us are seated around the island in my kitchen, enjoying the feast Clint prepared for us. Steve looks more relaxed than he was earlier, probably because no one’s talking about things he considers “unfit for public discussion.” The dark circles under Bucky’s eyes seem more pronounced than usual; I’m glad I told Nick to keep Bucky away from this mission. He would jump at the opportunity, well-rested or not.

            9:28, Clint and I clean up the dishes from breakfast while Bucky, Steve, Erin, and Jenna talk in the living room. The conversation is light – after last night, no one feels the need to discuss anything too personal. I wrap an afghan around my shoulders as I sink into the couch next to Jenna. Just as I’m getting comfortable, Bucky notices my mission folder on the coffee table. Curious, he picks it up before I can stop him.

            “You’re going to Russia?” he asks, scanning over the information. “This man is listed as incredibly dangerous. Why wasn’t I called in on this?”

            All eyes fall on me, my tired brain scrambling for a logical excuse. “Well, Nick did consider asking you to come with—”

            “Which he should have. Natasha, you might need the help.”

            “As I was saying, Nick considered it, but after learning about last night, he reassessed the situation and changed his mind.” I glance at Clint, silently pleading that he’ll remain silent about it being my idea for Bucky to stay home. For once, he understands and turns his attention back to Bucky.

            “I guess if Nick doesn’t think you’ll need me, I’m okay with not being asked to go.”

            “Are you sure this mission is a good idea? This looks dangerous, even for you, Natasha.” Steve eyes wander over the information.

            “Will you guys stop reading my mission folders?” I ask, snatching it out of Steve’s hands. “This is supposed to be private information!”

            “Wait a second,” Steve reaches for the folder, which I pull to my chest. “Did that say you were going to Volgograd?”

            “Volgograd? Is there something I’m missing here?” Jenna asks.

            “It hasn’t always been called Volgograd. For quite a while, it was known as Stalingrad, which is coincidentally where Natasha is from.” The room falls silent as they all stare at me again. God, I’m getting sick of all the worried looks.

            “Will you guys cut that out? I’ll be fine. You all seem to be forgetting who I am.” I snarl. Okay, I sort of pout.

            “We know who you are: a friend that we’re worried about.” Erin leans forward. “You’ve been through a lot—far more than any one person should have to go through—and we want to make sure you’re okay.”

            “I’m fine!” I snap, a little too harshly. Even Bucky cringes slightly. “Seriously, I’m fine,” I sigh. “I’m just tired of everyone babying me because of my past. I’ve worked far too hard to get where I am. Going to Volgograd won’t change anything. Besides, it’s been years. I’m not the same person I was when I left, and I’m sure things have changed over there, too.”

            “Clint, I’m surprised you’re okay with this.” Steve turns to my husband, obviously still in over-protective mode.

            “I’m not going to tell Nat what to do. Sure, I’d love to go with, but I’d probably just end up blowing her cover. If she needs to talk, she can always call me. If something goes wrong, I’ll just steal one of Tony’s jets.”

            “But what if—”

            “Steve,” Jenna cuts him off. “Tasha will be fine. We’re done worrying about this.” Steve concedes, relaxing his posture again.

            11:02, Bucky announces that he needs to go home. In the back of my mind I worry he’ll call Nick and try to go with on the mission; I’m not convinced he’s okay with me going alone. He’s irrationally worried—as one of my trainers when I was younger, he knows what I’m capable of. He’s seen me take on entire armies and come out unharmed.

            11:05, Bucky and Erin get into their car and drive off. Steve’s still staring at me with a stern expression, disapproving of my stubbornness. Jenna elbows him in the ribs, trying to get him to stop.

            “Well,” she says, “this has been fun, but we should get going, too. I’m sure you have things to do before you leave, and Steve and I are visiting relatives later today. Thank you for the delicious breakfast. Tasha, we’ll see you when you get back. Please be safe.”

            “Thanks for coming!” I smile and wave as they walk out the front door. As soon as they’re gone, Clint turns to me, looking even more concerned than before.

            “Volgograd? Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “Because I knew you’d react this way.”

            “It’s because I care about you. You’re going back to where you were born. Where your parents died. Where you were brainwashed. Where Alexi is buried!”

            “I know I have a lot of history there, but I can’t avoid it forever. Stop looking so worried.”

            “I’m your husband, I’m supposed to worry about you.” His voice softens, as do his eyes. “You don’t want us to worry, I know, but this whole thing is a bad idea. If you want to face your past in a healthy way, let’s take a vacation to Russia. Sending you there to assassinate someone will bring back so many bad memories.” He joins me on the couch, but I don’t let him get close. Steve’s right—I am stubborn. I know this mission could go horribly wrong. I know I might breakdown when I get there, and, without Clint, I might not be able to compose myself.

            When I come back to the present, I notice the hurt look on Clint’s face. Crap. I need to stop pushing the people I love away. I lean into him, comfortable in his familiar embrace.

            “I’m sorry, but I have to do this,” I say in a hoarse whisper, fighting off tears.

            “I know. I’m sorry I got so upset. You have to leave in a few hours—let’s not waste them fighting.” He kisses me gently. “I love you, Nat. Never forget that,” he mumbles against my lips.

            “I know. I love you, too.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

            1:15, my alarm goes off, alerting me that I have to leave in 15 minutes in order to make it on the plane. I sit up, still on the couch—Clint and I must have fallen back asleep—and hurriedly find my blazer that I had taken off earlier. Clint’s in the kitchen making pizza bagels.

            “Hey! Want some?”

            “I’m good. How was I out?”

            “About an hour. I would’ve woken you, but I figured you could use some sleep before your trip.”

            “Thanks,” I yawn. “Now I need some caffeine.”

            “One cup of tea, coming up. What kind?”

            “Mango.” I glance at the clock. “And you better make that to go.”

            I gather up my bags and bring them down to the front door. After a bit of searching, I find my black pumps and promptly realize I forgot to pack shoes. I scramble to find a small suitcase and quickly pick out a few pairs.

            Clint comes out of the kitchen a few minutes later and hands me a travel mug. I smile gratefully as I pass him my keys. We load my bags into the trunk of my car, and at 1:28, we leave for the hangar.

            It should only take us about 20 minutes to get there, but I always allow plenty of extra time in case of bad traffic. Luckily, it’s a Thursday and most people are at work or school. One of the benefits of being an Avenger is not having to work a 9 to 5 job. We tend to get paid well for saving the world.

            Nick’s already waiting in the hangar when we pull up at 1:51. We transfer my bags from the trunk to the luggage section of the private jet. Nick goes to talk to the pilot, leaving Clint and I alone.

            For a short while, we stand there in silence, unsure of what’s left to be said. My eyes scan his face, attempting to rememorize every detail. The day-old stubble from an almost sleepless night. The exact shade of his bright gray eyes. The slight dimple in his right cheek. It may seem ridiculous, but I’m not sure when I’ll get to see him again. It may be a few days, it may be a few weeks. Either way, it’s too long.

            I feel our hands touch and our fingers automatically entwine. That worried look is back in his eyes, so I give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

            “I’m going to be fine. I promise.”

            “I know you’re going to get this guy and be home soon, but I’ll miss you. And I could tell you that I won’t worry, but it would be a lie.”

            “You’re not all that good at lying, anyway,” I tease.

            “No, I’m really not,” he chuckles. “Call me when you land?”

            “Of course.”

            “I love you, Nat.”  
            In lieu of a verbal response, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, my fingers tangling in the longer sections of his hair. When we reluctantly part, we’re both slightly breathless.

            “Well, that was one hell of a goodbye,” Clint grins.

            “Just want to make sure you’ll miss me,” I grin back. I notice Nick standing somewhat awkwardly next to the plane; he must have been there longer than I thought. “I’ll talk to you in a few hours, okay?”

            “Okay.”

            After boarding the jet, I watch Clint get back into my car and drive away. The engines roar as we take off. Nick clears his throat to get my attention.

            “So, let’s go over all the details. One of the houses had video surveillance, so we have a general description of the unsub. There have been 8 attacks so far, 3 in Saint Petersburg, 3 in Moscow, and 2 in Volgograd. If this guy continues with his pattern of killing every 7 days, there should be another attack Tuesday. That means we have 5 days to find him and take him out. After that, he’ll most likely move on to another city and we won’t be able to do anything until after another attack. Any ideas?”

            “This feels personal, Nick. We should look into men from families similar to the ones being killed: upper class families of 5. The son is always taken from each crime scene, which could be another clue. The suspect may have been removed from his home or lost his family another way. We haven’t been able to find any link between the victims other than social status and demographic, right?”

            “Right. See, this is why you’re the best. As soon as we land, start looking into that. I booked us rooms at a 5-star hotel, under pseudonyms, of course. Your real name would raise some flags.”

            “Sounds good. Hey, since we still have a while until we land, I’m gonna lie down and try to get some sleep. I’m currently running on about 3 hours.”

            “Go for it.”

            “Thanks.” There are some plush recliners farther back in the cabin, so I grab my pillow and choose the one farthest from all the artificial lights. I draw the shade on the window and settle in for a nap. Before I allow myself to get too comfortable, I set an alarm for 2 hours—I don’t want to force Nick to sit quietly by himself for too long.

            _Carry On Wayward Son_ by Kansas blasts from my phone 2 hours later, startling me awake. My pencil skirt and blazer are slightly rumpled, but I just don’t give a fuck. I assess the damage to my hair and makeup using my iPhone, but eventually give up on fixing everything. Usually, I try to be presentable, but at this point it’s just Nick and me, and he couldn’t care less about my outfit.

            For the rest of the trip, we either discuss tactical strategies or sit in silence. That’s one of the best things about our friendship—we don’t feel the need to fill every lull in the conversation.

            We land in an empty field, where a taxi is waiting to take us to our hotel in the heart of Volgograd. Nick had promised me a 5-star hotel, and upon arrival, I realize he meant Russian 5-star, not American. I guess it’s easy to forget things about your home country after being brainwashed so many times. The lobby is clean and inviting, but who knows what the rooms will look like. The receptionist smiles as we approach the front desk.

            “Hello! My name is Nikolay, how may I help you?” I translate for Nick.

            “Sam Wilson and Nancy Rushman, checking in,” Nick says. I quickly translate, trying to hide the laughter bubbling up inside me. Out of all the pseudonyms he could have used, he picked Falcon’s real name. I didn’t think it was possible, but Nick Fury can still surprise me.

            Nikolay hands me two room keys, and a bellboy helps us carry our bags to rooms 41 and 42. My room is in better condition than expected, though not by much. Volgograd isn’t exactly a popular tourist destination.

            Before I forget, I pull out my phone to call Clint. When he finally answers, he sounds a bit off. I can hear loud laughter and yelling in the background.

            “Clint? Is everything okay?”

            “Yeah! Everything’s fine,” he slurs. “Steve and Bucky insisted on a guys’ night out so I wouldn’t be home alone.”

            “Please tell me they’re still there.”

            “Yeah! Here, Steve, it’s Nat.” His voice fades as the phone gets passed around.

            “Hey, Natasha! What’s up?”

            “How much has he had to drink?”

            “I don’t know. I kind of lost track.”

            “Why do you and Bucky always take him to bars? You can’t even feel the effects of alcohol!”  
            “While it’s true that _we_ can’t, Clint definitely can. And it’s really entertaining to watch him get drunk.”

            “One of these days he’s going to die of alcohol poisoning,” I sigh. “Promise me you’ll get him home safely.”

            “We always do.”

            “Please look after him. And have him call me when he’s sober.”

            “Okay. He’s trying to start a fight with another drunk guy, so I’ve got to go.”

            “Thank you, Steve.”

            “Anytime.”

            Well, so much for a conversation with my husband.

            I head across the hall to Nick’s room, which will act as our command center. The door opens before I can even knock. He ushers me in, double checks that the hallway’s empty, then closes and locks the door. I take a seat at the desk and set up my laptop. Next to the bed, Nick has a board full of crime scene pictures. There’s an open section for suspects under the victims’ information.

            An incognito window open, I easily hack into the hotel’s servers. From there, it’s only a few more steps until I’ve infiltrated the government’s network. The Russian government is less aware of breeches of security than the American government, so I have more time than I’m used to. Nonetheless, my fingers fly across the keyboard at top speed, plugging specific characteristics into the search bar. Each addition narrows the list of potential suspects further. Pretty soon, I’m down to only 6 names. I print their information and quickly erase any digital evidence of my hacking.

            Nick pulls the papers out of his printer and whistles, impressed. “In two minutes, you managed to do something the Russian government hasn’t in the 9 weeks they’ve been working on this case.”

            “Give me a few more minutes and I should be able to narrow it down even more.” I take the papers from him and separate them into 6 piles. “Suspect #1: Anton Volkov. Occupation: mayor of Magadan. Age: 38. Height: 6 feet even. Hair color: blonde. At the age of 14, he was placed in a foster home while his parents went through a bitter divorce. They ended up leaving him in the system.”

            “Back up. Did you say this guy was a mayor?”

            “In Magadan. That’s on the other side of the country. I think people might notice if their mayor was mysteriously absent for more than 2 months. Okay, suspect #2: Viktor Andronikov. Occupation: high school math teacher in Tula. Age: 32. Height: 6’4”. Hair color: brown. His parents went to jail for embezzlement when he was 12.”

            “I hope you realize I have no fucking idea where any of these cities are.”

            “Sorry. I figured you’d have a map handy. Tula is south of Moscow. This guy’s 3 inches taller than the estimated height of the unsub, so let’s put him down as a maybe. Suspect #3: Mikhail Gurkovsky. Occupation: student at Moscow State University of Medicine and Dentistry. Age: 19. Height: 6’2”. Hair color: black. His father was physically abusive, so Mikhail became emancipated at the age of 16. He seems to have had perfect attendance in school, so I doubt he’s our perp.

            “Suspect #4: Vladimir Leshev. Occupation: physicist in Murmansk, which is north of Saint Petersburg. Age: 45. Height: 5’10”. Hair color: not applicable. When he was 9, his father killed his mother and is currently serving 2 consecutive life sentences.”

            “Let’s put him down as another maybe. Number 5?”

            “Ivan Bolshov. Occupation: butcher in Vologda, which is east of Moscow. Age: 53. Height: 5’8”. Hair color: black. He witnessed a mafia hit when he was 10 and has been in protective services ever since. He’s a bit too short to be our unsub; it’s got to be kind of hard to fake an extra 5 inches.”

            “I wouldn’t know.”

            I raise an eyebrow at Nick, not entirely sure what he means by that. “Let’s just put him down as a possibility. Suspect #6: Dmitri Krushnic. Occupation: convenience store clerk in Archangel, which is east of Saint Petersburg. Age: 40. Height: 5’11”. Hair color: dark brown/black. His parents lost all their money when he was 4, causing them to eventually place the kids in an orphanage so they could survive the extreme poverty they were suddenly living in. Nick. He has a rap sheet. Multiple B&E charges, a few counts of aggravated assault, and fraud. This has to be our perp.”

            “Do some more digging. Track his credit care and phone. I want this guy before he kills again.”

            “On it.” Nick paces as I type. “Looks like his last purchase was in Tula 3 weeks ago. He withdrew $2000 from an ATM after filling up his gas tank.”

            “You said Tula was south of Moscow, right?”

            “It would have been on his way to Volgograd,” I nod.

            “And his cellphone?”

            “Not currently active, but I’ll get an alert as soon as it’s turned on.”

            “Good work. Let me know when you have a location. Until then, I’d like to get some sleep.”

            “Goodnight, Nick.”

            “Goodnight, Natasha.”

            I gather up my stuff and walk back to my room. My stomach growls, reminding me that I slept through dinner on the jet. Hoping Nick won’t mind, I order room service.

            Pretty soon, it’s midnight and I realize how exhausted I am. I crawl into bed and drift off to sleep, expecting to finish this mission tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

            Nick bangs on my door at a little after 7. Annoyed, I scowl and ignore him. After a few minutes, I give in and open the door.

            “Why are you getting me up so early?” I growl.

            “Because we need to do some more investigating of this Krushnic guy. Meet me downstairs in 10 minutes. We’re going to Archangel.”

            “Sorry, what? Why?”

            “We’re going to find his mother.”

            “There was no record of her after 2008 in the government’s files.”

            “That doesn’t mean she’s not out there. 9 minutes.” Nick walks away. I flip him off as I close the door. “I may only have one eye, but I still saw that.” Fuck. Looks like it’s going to be a great day.

            I get ready as quickly as possible and head down the hall. Halfway to the elevator, I remember I have the wrong fake ID and credit card with me. Sprinting now, I arrive only a minute late. Nick is talking to an older man, probably in his early seventies.

            “Nancy, this is Igor. He’ll be driving us to Archangel and back.”

            “Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand and am surprised by his firm grip.

            “Yes. No speak English too good.”

            “That’s okay,” I respond in Russian, much to Igor’s surprise, “I speak fluent Russian.”

            “Very good! Shall we go?”

            “Lead the way.” I motion toward the door. As soon as Igor walks past, Nick gives me a stern look.

            “I know this is your home country, but don’t forget we’re on a mission. You’re Nancy Rushman, the teacher. I have a feeling she would know just enough Russian to get by,” he whispers harshly.

            “I’m sorry it’s hard for me to forget I’m not supposed to know my native language,” I hiss back. Turning on my heel, I follow Igor to his car.

            “Your husband does not appear to be in a good mood today,” Igor mutters to me.

            “Husband? Oh, no, my husband is back home in America. Sam here is just a good friend,” I reply, startled.

            “Do you often take trips with just your good friend?” he raises an eyebrow.

            “I hope you’re not insinuating that I’m having an affair.”

            “Of course not! It is just… an interesting arrangement. It is not often that I escort non-couples across the country in search of a long-lost relative.”

            So _that’s_ what Nick told Igor we’re doing. Nice of him to fill me in on the plan.

            “My husband was unable to come with, so Sam offered to join me.”

            “I see.”

            “What are you guys talking about?” Nick finally inquires.

            “This guy thought we were married. By the way, thanks for telling me what lie you’ve been telling,” I whisper.

            “I never told anyone we were married!” he retorts.

            “That’s not what I’m talking about. Long-lost relative?”

            “I needed something believable,” he shrugs. “Hey, Igor, we’re sort of in a hurry, so I’ll pay you extra to ignore speed limits.”

            “What about the police?”

            “Don’t worry about the police. If we get pulled over, I’ll take care of it.”

            “Take care of it?”

            “I have my ways.”

            Igor looks worried, but heeds his instructions. Soon, we’re absolutely flying down the road.  Other drivers honk and yell as we whip past, which makes Igor a tad uncomfortable, but he keeps speeding. We arrive in Archangel (Arkhangelsk) more than an hour ahead of schedule.

            “Where would you like to be dropped off?” Igor asks, staring into his rearview mirror.

            “We’re meeting someone at the train station,” Nick replies. I start to translate, but stop mid-sentence.

            “Who are we meeting?”

            “You’ll see when we get there. But we’ll never get there if you don’t tell Igor where to go.” Hesitantly, I convey the message to our driver.

            “When and where will I pick you up again?”

            “Not sure yet. Stay in town. We’ll keep you posted.”

            Igor drops us off outside the decrepit train station, incredibly wary of his surroundings. I have to admit, I’m not terribly comfortable with it, either. Sometimes, Nick picks the weirdest places for us to meet contacts. We push open the doors and enter the small building. It’s painstakingly obvious it’s been abandoned for quite some time; animals have taken refuge among the shattered bits of glass and busted benches. The electricity has been cut off, so the only light is coming in through dirty, half-broken windows. Movement in the far corner catches my attention; I can faintly make out the silhouette of a man leaning against the wall.

            “Good to see you again, Nick,” he says. That voice. I know that voice. How could he…

            “You too, Bucky,” Nick smiles and walks over to him.

            “What are you doing here?” I snap.

            “I called Nick to convince him I was needed on this mission.”

            “You’re _not_ needed. I can handle this.”

            “Are you sure about that?”

            “Yes! You shouldn’t be here.”

            “I have as much right as you,” he scoffs.

            “I wouldn’t go that far. I have a _lot_ more history here.” I narrow my eyes.

            “Look—we’ve both been through terrible things. I don’t know why you don’t want me here, but I’m not going home. Besides, I can help.”

            “Fine. Stay for all I care!” I spit the words at him.

            “Natasha.” Nick grabs my arm, pulling my attention to him. “Calm down. I’m not sure what’s going on with you, but trust me: having Bucky here will help us a lot. I sent him the file you put together on Dmitri Krushnic, and he managed to locate the mother, Alyona. She’s still in Archangel. So please, stop fighting about Bucky being here, and let’s finish what we came here to do.” I jerk my arm out of his grasp. After a while, I nod tersely. “Good. Now, Bucky, where’s Alyona?”

            “She lives only a few miles from here. I have a suit in the car—Natasha and I can talk to her. No offense, Nick, but you might scare the woman.”

            “That’s fair,” he shrugs. “Okay, let’s go.”

            It’s a short ride to the outskirts of town. We drive through a neighborhood visibly plagued by poverty. Bucky parks in front of a small, one-story house, snugly set between two apartment complexes. Weeds have overgrown the small patch of what used to be a lawn. A rusted bicycle leans up against the gate of the dilapidated fence. Nick watches from the car as Bucky and I approach the front door. I knock gently and step back beside Bucky. A stout woman opens the door, peering at us suspiciously.

            “Da?”

            “Hello,” I smile, “do you speak any English?”

            “Nyet.” This just got a whole lot harder.

            “My name is Nancy Rushman,” I say in slow, broken Russian. “This is my friend, Bucky. We wanted to ask you a few questions.”

            Alyona stares warily at Bucky, but decides to let us in. Her house is sparsely furnished and reeks of sewage. The smell drags painful memories to the front of my mind, so I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to focus on the present. Alyona motions for us to sit on the well-worn couch. We sink deep into its cushions.

            “Alyona, you have a son named Dmitri, yes?” I keep a smile plastered on my face, hoping she’ll see me as trustworthy.

            “Dmitri Tippens Krushnic. Why?”

            “We were wondering if you have talked to him lately.”

            “No. My boy is on vacation right now. I haven’t seen him in 3 months.”

            “That’s very interesting. Do you know where he is?”

            “He’s traveling all over. Why do you want to know so much about my Dmitri? Who are you people?”

            “I’m a school teacher with some frequent flyer miles who agreed to help out a friend. They’ve been looking for your son for a while, now.”

            “What has he done now?” Her eyes fill with fear and worry.

            “Nothing!” I laugh. “A mutual friend wants to talk to him, that’s all.”

            “I will see if I can find him. If I do, how shall I contact you?”

            “Here.” I hand her a card with my name and the number to a burner cell I have stashed in my purse. “Call at any time.” Bucky and I stand and begin to walk toward the door.

            “Why are you trying to hide the fact that you speak Russian?”

I stop in my tracks. “What?”

            “You are trying too hard to conceal your knowledge of the Russian language. Why?”

            “I… I knew Russian at one point in my life… I just… am having trouble remembering what to say.” Luckily, she seems to buy it and lets us leave without further question.

            “How’d it go?” Nick asks as soon as we’re back in the car.

            “Something’s up,” Bucky replies. “She definitely knows more than what she told us.”

            “Agreed, though it isn’t worth it to pursue this further. She was already suspicious we weren’t who we said we were,” I sigh.

            “Do you think she has contact with her son?” Nick asks.

            “Definitely. We should head back to Volgograd—we’re running out of time to stop this guy.”

            Nick reluctantly agrees and calls Igor, telling him to meet us back at that train station. Bucky drops us off out front, then goes to return the car he rented. About 20 minutes later, he returns on foot.

            “I told you it would take me less than half an hour!” he smirks. “The rental place is only 10 miles away!”

            “For some people, that’s actually a long walk,” Nick replies.

            “Yeah, for _some_ people,” Bucky snorts. Annoyed, I go sit with my back against the building.

            Igor drives up a little later, and we pile into the back of the car.

            “Is this your husband?” he inquires.

            “No. Just another friend,” I respond quickly.

            “You must have a lot of friends,” he mutters, half under his breath.

            “For your information,” Bucky chimes in, “I’m happily married.”

            “And where is your wife?”

            “Back home. Nick asked me to come out here to see if I could help locate Nancy’s relative.”

            “Nick?”

            Fuck. I subtly hit Bucky’s arm. “He’s talking about Sam. His middle name is Nicholas, so Bucky calls him Nick.” Just then, my phone rings. “Hello?”

            “Hey, Nat! Sorry about last night.”

            “That’s okay. Steve got you home safely?”

            “Yep! My head still kinda hurts, but that should pass. How’s everything going?”

            “Fine. We’ve got a bit more searching to do, but hopefully I’ll be home soon.”

            “Are you okay? Is this a bad time?”

            “Kind of.”

            “Was that an answer to the first or second question?”

            “Kind of both right now.”

            “Call me back when you can talk.”

            “Okay. I love you.”

            “Love you, too, Nat.”

            God I hate taking calls in public. Igor has been staring at me since I picked up my phone, and it’s now uncomfortably quiet.

            “So… did Clint make it home okay last night?” Bucky attempts to fill the silence.

            “Yeah, no thanks to you. Why do you always get him so drunk?”

            “It’s funny! He talks incessantly about random things.”

            “I’m so glad Steve normally goes with. Who knows what would happen if he didn’t.”

            “A lot more would probably get broken.”

            “Probably.”

            We talk casually about unimportant topics for the duration of the drive, careful not to reveal anything about ourselves to the ever-alert Igor. It’s getting late by the time we get back to our hotel. We thank Igor, pay him, then go back to Nick’s room.

            “Okay, so Alyona was sort of a dead end,” I sigh.

            “Anything on the phone yet?” Nick asks me.

            “Not yet. He still hasn’t turned it on.”

            “So I guess there’s not really anything we can do tonight.”

            “Does this mean I can go to bed?”

            “I guess,” Nick shrugs. “See you both tomorrow, bright and early.” I groan as I get up to go to my room. Bucky managed to get a room just down the hall, registered to a Tom Buchanan. As he walks out of Nick’s room, he pulls out his phone (I’m assuming to call Erin), which reminds me to call Clint back. He answers on the third ring.

            “Hello?”

            “Hey, Clint. Sorry it’s so late.”

            “It’s fine—I was up anyway. How is everything?”

            “Well, we figured out who is most likely killing people, but we still haven’t found him. Nick took me to see the guy’s mother today, and can you guess who happened to be in town?”

            “Bucky, right?” Clint sighed. “He kept asking me about your mission while we were at the bar last night. I told him not to go, but of course he doesn’t listen. It’s all a bit hazy, but I’m pretty sure he was complaining in Russian about something when he left. I had a feeling he’d fly out there. How are you doing with all of this?”

            “I’m pissed as fuck! I assured him that I would be fine here on my own, but he’s so fucking stubborn that he won’t listen to anyone. He really shouldn’t be here.”

            “I know. Other than that, how are you?”

            “Tired. Nick doesn’t seem to care that some of us need more than a few hours of sleep a night. How are you?”  
            “Not as hung-over as I was earlier. Coulson called today; he wants me to track someone down. I’m not sure if I’m going to do it.”

            “You should do _something_. I don’t want you just sitting around the house while I’m gone.”

            “Don’t worry, I haven’t just been sitting around. As you know, Steve, Bucky, and I went to a bar last night, and tomorrow, Steve and I are going to race go-carts.”

            “Sounds fun,” I smile. “Well, it’s almost 1, so I think I’m gonna go to bed. Goodnight, Clint. I love you.”

            “I love you, too. Always and forever.”


	4. Chapter 4

            Once again, I wake to the sound of Nick pounding on my door at 7:15. I grumble as I pull myself out of bed.

            “What is it? Has something happened?” I ask impatiently.

            “Not yet, but a good agent is always ready.”

            “Yeah, well this agent needs sleep.” I slam the door in his face and crawl back into bed.

            “Fine. You have two hours,” he yells through the door. I smile as I drift off to sleep. It’s the little victories that get me through the day.

            Exactly two hours later, Nick rouses me from my sleep to drag me downstairs for breakfast. We find Bucky at a back corner table, plates piled in front of him. Man, can he eat. I grab some fruit, a waffle, and a cup of hot water for tea from the buffet table. As I sit down, I notice Nick didn’t get any food.

            “Aren’t you going to eat?”

            “I ate with Bucky two hours ago while you were sleeping.”

            “You’ve been here, _eating_ , for two hours?” I turn to Bucky, incredulous. He shrugs and finishes off what had to have been at least his fourth cup of coffee.

            I attempt to finish my breakfast as quickly as possible since Nick is staring me down. I know I’m probably going to get in trouble for the way I acted this morning, but I really did need sleep. If only Clint were here to back me up…

            No. Clint shouldn’t be here. He needs to be at home, doing normal stuff and not worrying about me. I don’t need to put him in any danger, which seems to follow me everywhere. Some days I really wish we led normal lives; everything would be much simpler…

            I’m pulled back to reality when my phone buzzes. I glance down, expecting it to be a text from Clint.

            “Guys. Dmitri just turned on his cell. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll have a location.” The three of us are on edge as I track our serial killer. “Got it!”

            “Let’s go.” Nick practically jumps out of his chair. We leave our dirty dishes scattered across the table as we run back to our rooms for our weapons and gadgets. Three minutes later, we meet up out front.

            “I have a rental car in the parking lot,” Bucky yells as he sprints past us. Nick and I follow, unable to catch up. We’re led to a brown Toyota Camry. I slide in the front passenger seat so I can give directions, which Nick isn’t particularly happy about. Ignoring his complaints, I direct Bucky across town to the coordinates on my phone. We end up in an old cemetery that appears to have been forgotten; weeds have grown over everything, making the headstones extremely difficult to read. After scanning the area, we stealthily move closer to the source of the signal.

            “Hey, Bucky, does this place look at all familiar to you?”

            “I really don’t remember. Why?”

            “I have this weird feeling I’ve been here before, but I can’t—” I’m interrupted by a ringing phone. It’s lying on the ground a few feet in front of me. Nick reaches down for it, but I stop him. “What if it’s been tampered with?”

            “Well, I guess we’ll find out. Hello?” he answers the call.

            “Hello, Nick. Or should I call you Sam?”

            Nick freezes, his eyes widening. “Dmitri, I assume?” he asks, trying to keep his tone normal.

            “Very good! So your friend there has looks _and_ a brain! Wonderful!”

            “What do you want?” Nick attempts to usher us backwards toward the car.

            “Not so fast. Stay where you are. What do I want, you ask? Well, the world would be nice. However, that doesn’t seem to be an option. Instead, I would like to talk to your beautiful friend there.”

            Nick cautiously hands me the cellphone. “What do you want, scum bag?”

            “Well, hello, gorgeous. Pity, I was hoping you’d be a bit nicer.”

            “Trust me—nice isn’t a word people usually use to describe me. Deadly is much more accurate. Now, Dmitri Tippens Krushnic, you are going to pay for what you’ve done,” I hiss.

            “Oh, and you’re going to stop me, Nancy?” I clench my hands, slightly surprised he knows my alias. Then again, his mother probably tipped him off. “You know,” he continues, “I did some digging. You’re not really Nancy Rushman, are you? No, you’re definitely not a school teacher visiting Russia with some friends to find a long-lost relative, Natasha. That’s right—I know who you all are. Natalia Alianovna Romanova. It has a nice ring to it. Oh, and your code name is Black Widow, isn’t it? See, I figured it wasn’t fair if you knew all about me and I didn’t know who was following too closely on my heels. Do you recognize this place? I picked it just for you.”

            I open my mouth to sass him, but I pause as distant memories come flooding back. Years ago, I was here, before it was overrun with plants. This is where my parents are buried. “How did you find out they were here?” I stammer.

            “Them? Oh, Natasha—I can call you Natasha, right?—this isn’t about your parents. That’s not nearly traumatic enough.” I can hear his smirk over the phone. God, I really hate this guy. “Look down and to your left. You may have to move some of the plants to see the name properly.”

            I crouch down and brush leaves away from the tombstone. The first thing that catches my eye is a small hour glass I had carved into the corner. “No…” My eyes well up with tears as I read the name engraved in the marble: Alexi Shostakov.

            “Oh yes. Lucky for me, there are people out in the world that really hate you and your friends, and it turns out they give great tips on how to screw with you.”

            “How dare you! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!” I scream. “I DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE, BUT I _WILL_ FIND YOU AND DESTROY YOU.” Bucky and Nick attempt to calm me and get me back to the car. Tears stream down my face, which I’m certain is beet-red at this point.

            “Step one: exploit the death of a loved one. You have plenty of those, don’t you? Bodies just seem to drop wherever you go. I had so many people to pick from, but I figured what could be better than the person who originally caused you to become a widow? After looking through your history, I wonder: is Alexi actually dead? You’ve run into him a few times now, haven’t you?”

            “Fuck you! I watched him die!”

            “Oh, I knew I picked a good one. So back to the plan. Step one should cause you to be so focused on your grief that you fail to notice other things, like the device I have hidden behind Alexi’s grave.”

            I crouch and notice a black box half buried behind the headstone. White smoke erupts from it, making it impossible to see.

            “Goodnight, Black Widow. I’ll be seeing you again very soon…”

            “Nick! Bucky!” I scramble to find them as the world around me starts to spin. I slump to the ground, slowly losing consciousness. Everything fades to black…


	5. Chapter 5

            Everything is blurry. I strain my eyes, hoping to take in my surroundings. We’re no longer in the cemetery. My hands and feet are bound to a wooden chair, and I’ve been gagged. Muffled cries for help catch my wandering attention; there’s a dark blob—a person, I assume—strapped to the chair next to me. They thrash around for a bit, pulling on their restraints, but eventually give up.

            At this point, the inexplicable cloudiness in my eyes is beginning to recede to the edges of my vision. I can now tell that the person next to me is a teenage boy, probably taken from the last crime scene. I pivot, attempting to locate Nick or Bucky, but it appears the kid and I are alone.

            Quick. What was the name of the last family that was murdered? I should know this… I should _definitely_ know this. Un… un-something. The kid! The kid’s name might help. It doesn’t start with a vowel, I know that for sure. None of the boys taken had very unusual names… Let’s see… Maxim, Sasha, Vadim, Konstantin, Ivan, Oleg, Sergey, and… Georgy! Georgy Ungern! I struggle to remove the gag from my mouth with my tongue. Luckily, it’s tied loosely enough that I manage to get it out.

            “Georgy?” I ask tentatively. Recognition lights up in his eyes. “Georgy Ungern?” He nods his head vigorously, tears now forming in his eyes. “Listen very closely, Georgy. My name is Natasha, and I’m here to help.” I glance down at my wrists, still tightly bound to the chair. “I promise I _will_ find a way out of here.”

            The door behind us creaks open, and Dmitri walks in. “Hello, Natasha. You certainly are chatty today. Here, let me help you with that…” He shoves the gag firmly back into my mouth. “I hope you don’t mind if I continue this conversation in Russian. All this English is giving me a headache. Plus, I wouldn’t want to exclude our little friend, here.” Georgy stares up at him in horror and confusion. “Good. Now, you may be wondering where your friends are. Don’t worry, they won’t be going anywhere. Neither will you, for that matter. You may think you can outsmart me, but I’ve been 3 steps ahead this whole time.” I glare at Dmitri, hoping he’ll be done with his monologue (typical villain behavior) soon and he’ll leave so I can escape. He’s neglected to tighten my gag, and the wood on this chair is already splintering. If I change my center of gravity to flip the chair, it should break upon impact with the floor.

            Dmitri places his hands on my wrists, derailing my train of thought. “I would get comfortable if I were you. In three days, I’ll be disposing of both of you. And your friends, of course.” He grins, his face now inches from mine. “Then again, maybe I’ll keep you for a bit longer. With your friends gone, there won’t be anyone who knows where you are. We could have some fun, you and I.” I stare defiantly back at him, unable to verbalize a witty retort. “You’ll come around to the idea eventually. Ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?” I manage to twist my wrist enough to flip him off. Laughing, he saunters back over to the door. “I’ll be back in a little while. Don’t go anywhere.” His laughter fades as he closes the door and walks away. Finally.

            I lean forward, then throw my upper body against the back of the chair. I tip backwards, grunting as my back slams against the floor. As predicted, my chair is now in several pieces. I untangle myself from the ropes and leap to my feet. I yank the gag out of my mouth, tossing it to the ground in disgust. Georgy’s eyes are widened in awe. I smile as I untie him.

            “Listen. Getting out of here is not going to be easy. I need you to trust me.”

            “Yes, yes, please get me out of here,” Georgy sobs. “I want to go home!”  
            I pause, unsure of how to respond.

            “Why did you stop untying me?”

            “Georgy? Do you remember anything about the night you were taken?” I ask softly.

            “Very little. Why? Is everything okay?”

            I crouch, bringing myself down to his eye-level. “I hate to have to tell you this, especially here, under these circumstances, but you can’t go home. Dmitri, the man who was just in here, didn’t just kidnap you.”

            “Is my family okay? Anastasia, Katya, mom, dad?”

            “They’re all dead,” I whisper. Pain and rage contort his face as tears slip down his cheeks. I place a hand on his shoulder and let him grieve silently. After a few moments, I finish untying him and help him to his feet. Unstable, he slumps against my shoulder. “I know this is hard, but we need to get out of this room. I have friends who are probably somewhere in this building. We need to find them and get out.”

            “My whole family is dead!” Georgy wails, a little too loudly.

            “I know,” I hush him, “I lost my parents at a young age, too. In fact, I’ve lost most of the people I’ve ever loved. But I need you to be brave and work with me here. Be as quiet as possible and follow me.” Georgy nods solemnly, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand.

            The only door in the room is very well disguised with the wall. If Dmitri hadn’t come in through it, I might not have known it was there. There is no handle, so I assume it opens outward and push. It moves a fraction of an inch before the deadbolt stops it.

            “Yebat,” I mutter. Suddenly, it occurs to me: Dmitri may be smart, but he wasn’t smart enough to take my belt. A good agent always comes prepared; there are a few secret compartments in my wide, thick belt which I usually hide under my jacket. I pop open one of them and remove my laser cutter. Carefully, I aim it through the crack in the door, roughly where I estimate the lock to be. With a satisfying sizzle and crack, the door swings open. I catch the edge and peer around the doorframe. The hallway appears to be clear of people and cameras, so I motion for Georgy to follow me.

            We stealthily (correction: I stealthily) creep down the hall, keeping an eye out for potential threats. Georgy does what I sincerely hope is not his best, as he stumbles along, stomping his feet and occasionally running into the wall. Upon his next collision, I notice the wall give slightly. Just like before, there is no handle, so I pull out my laser again. Within seconds, the door swings open to reveal a dark room.

            “Nick? Bucky?” I hiss into the silence. No response. I’m about to move on when Georgy grabs my arm.

            “Wait. Why would the door be locked and hidden if there was nothing important inside?” Good point, kid. I normally would have thought of that. Whatever Dmitri gassed us with is really messing with my brain. I wonder if anything else is affected…

            I nod and enter the room, fumbling around for a light switch. The lights flicker on one-by-one, slowly dispelling the darkness. I can’t believe my eyes. Row upon row of crates fill the room, each marked for the Russian government. I crack open the nearest one, amazed to find high-tech weapons.

            “Holy shit. This has got to be bigger than we originally thought,” I whistle. Drawing my eyes away from the crates, I notice a desk in the far corner. Stacks of folders surround it; I flip the top one open to find personal information on the Ungern family. I close it quickly before Georgy sees it. A framed photo catches my attention. It appears to be an old picture of Dmitri’s family, taken when he was a young boy. His father looks familiar. Why? Where have I seen him before?

            “I think I found another door!” Georgy calls across the room. I hush him as I walk over to examine the wall. Sure enough, this section of the wall moves slightly. I open it like I did with the others and we move on from the warehouse of weapons.

            “Bucky? Nick?” I ask in a hoarse whisper. Finally, like music to my ears, muffled grunts come from nearby. We follow the noises to find Nick tied to a chair, gagged and blindfolded. I quickly cut him loose. “Where’s Bucky?”

            “I don’t know. I only woke up a few hours ago, and you’re the first person I’ve seen.”

            “He has to be here somewhere. Probably tied up somewhere more secure. These ropes would never hold him,” I muse. “Georgy! See if you can find another door.”

            “Who’s the kid?”

            “Georgy Ungern. Kidnapping victim #8.”

            “So we’re definitely right about Krushnic being our guy.”

            “Affirmative. Just wait until you see the room we just came from.”

            Nick looks up at me, perplexed. His expression changes to shock, quickly followed by anger at the sight of the crates. “We need to shut this down. NOW.”

            “We need to find Bucky first. Oh, and one more thing,” I lead him to the desk, “does this guy look familiar to you?”

            “That looks kind of like Igor… But it can’t be.”

            “Oh, yes it can,” a voice booms from behind us. We whip around to discover Igor, or whoever he really is, has entered the room. “Nice to see you both again. I’m afraid my English is much better than I previously admitted. My apologies.”

            “Who are you?” Nick demands.

            “You may call me Leonid. I am Dmitri’s father.”

            “I kind of gathered that from the picture,” I mutter.

            “Ah, yes. I am so proud of my boy. Unfortunately, his mother doesn’t see things the same way. I’m sorry to say we had to dispose of her.”

            “What? How could you kill your wife?” I ask, enraged.

            “We did what had to be done,” Leonid shrugs. “She was off her rocker anyway. Alyona was no longer the woman I married all those years ago.”

            “So you killed her? If she was going crazy, who would have believed her story?”

            “Hmm. I never considered that. Oh well.”

            “Oh well? Do you care that little about the sanctity of life? Of the lives of the people you love?” I’m practically screaming at this point.

            “My, what an interesting assassin. I was under the impression that you didn’t care whether people lived or died. You _do_ kill people for a living…”

            “I used to kill people for a living. Now it’s just a side job.”

            “Speaking of killing people, where is the young boy we left with you?” Shit. Georgy’s still looking for a hidden door in the next room. He’s probably on his way over here to investigate all the yelling.

            “Georgy? I don’t know. We got separated. He’s probably far away by now,” I speak loudly, hoping he’ll get the message.

            “Pity. Dmitri and I were going to have some fun with him.”

            I finally look over at Nick, whose face is an unemotional mask. The look in his eye, however, tells me that I need to calm down. I’m getting way too upset and am becoming irrational. I used to be so good at distancing myself from situations. What happened?

            “Speaking of, where is Dmitri?” Nick asks impassively.

            “He’s having a nice chat with your friend. Bucky, is it? A bit delusional, that one. Seems to think we’re part of an organization called Hydra. Luckily,” a sinister grin spreads across Leonid’s face, “these distortions of reality have allowed us to convince him we’ve kidnapped his wife, and the only way he can save her is by killing the two of you.”


	6. Chapter 6

"Did he just say what I think he did?" Nick whispers to me. I nod slowly, still unwilling to accept the situation at hand. This is bad. Very,  _very_  bad. Taking out humans is easy. Fighting someone like Bucky is near impossible. We've trained together-he knows how I operate; I can't surprise him. And his brute strength alone makes this a very unfair fight. I don't know if we'll make it out of this one alive; Bucky would do just about anything to protect Erin, even if that includes killing two of his best friends.

Leonid's smug smile grows even wider at the looks of abject horror on our faces. "Dmitri! It's time!" he yells. Dmitri strides into the room, closely followed by a heavily armed Bucky. It isn't hard to see how pleased they are with this turn of events. Bucky's face is somber, but his eyes are full of determination. Killing us is just a means to an end for him.

"Bucky. They're lying to you. Erin is back home, remember?" I plead, hoping to get through to him.

"You've always been an excellent liar, Natasha. Why should I trust you?" he growls.

"Because I'm your friend! I don't want to hurt you." I take a step forward, but he takes a step back. "Bucky, I trust you with my life. Do you trust me with yours?"

He looks down at the floor, uncertain of what to do. When his gaze finally meets mine again, all I can see is confusion in his eyes. "But Erin-"

"Is at home! I promise! We're in Russia on a case, and she would have no reason to be here! These guys probably don't even know about Hydra! They're lying to you!" Okay, now I'm getting exasperated.

"She's the one that's lying! It's what she does, isn't it? She manipulates people!" Dmitri objects.

"Yeah, but..." Bucky looks to his captor, eyes pleading for the truth.

"Then kill her and we'll give Erin back!"

"James Buchanan Barnes, you listen to me. There is absolutely NO WAY I would ever let your wife come with on a mission like this. Hell, I wouldn't even let Clint come with Natasha. And trust me, he tried." Nick glances at my stunned face before continuing. "I almost didn't even let you come. And hell, if I had made you stay home, we probably wouldn't even be in this mess, but you never know. There's very little that we can do to change this situation. You're the one with the gun. The one that has an important decision to make."

"What would Steve do?" I try another tactic. "Your best friend-would he  _ever_  kill his friends based solely on the word of a serial killer?"

Bucky opens his mouth to speak, but falters.

"And how do you think Erin will react when she finds out you killed Nick and me?"

Bucky clenches his jaw, slowly becoming more certain of what he needs to do.

"What are you waiting for? Kill them! They're lying to you! Think about it: when's the last time one of them actually told you the truth?" Dmitri screams.

Doubt returns to Bucky's face as he searches mine. I soften my expression, silently pleading with him to listen to reason. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Leonid slowly repositioning himself behind Bucky. In his hands is one of the guns from the crates.

"Bucky! Behind you!" I yell as Leonid raises his weapon. Bucky whips around and effortlessly shoots Leonid right between his eyes. The sound of his body hitting the floor is covered by Dmitri's anguished screams. Before any of us can react, he slams the butt of his gun into Bucky's temple and sprints out the door. Bucky crumples to the ground, not quite unconscious, but certainly disoriented. I rush over to him and attempt to help him to his feet. Nick comes over and shoves Bucky back to the floor.

"Stay down. You've done enough. Natasha, go follow Dmitri. I don't want him getting away."

"But-"

"Don't argue. Go."

I run out after Dmitri, but am unsure which way he went. The hallway branches at either end. Since I'm unfamiliar with the layout of the building, I pick a direction and run. After a few minutes of winding through seemingly endless hallways, I find myself back where I began and no closer to finding Dmitri. Nick is shocked to see me back so soon, empty handed.

"Romanoff! Where's Krushnic?"

"No clue. This place is actually a fucking maze," I wheeze, unusually exhausted. "I'm not even sure how we're going to get out of here, much less how to find Dmitri."

"Dammit, Natasha, you're supposed to be good at these things!"

"It's not my fault we were kidnapped by a psychopath and put in the middle of a maze! Stop placing all the blame on me and help me figure out how we're going to leave!"

Nick opens his mouth to retort, but decides against it. He stares down at the floor in silence.

"Hey, Tasha? Wasn't there some kid here?" Bucky asks from his seat on the floor.

"Shit! I forgot about Georgy!" I jog back into the room where we found Nick, calling his name. Nothing. The kid probably heard the gunshot and is terrified right now. "Georgy! It's okay! You can come out! One of the men that took you is dead, and the other is gone. You're safe with me."

Georgy slowly crawls out from behind a stack of boxes, "You're sure that it's safe?"

"Leonid's dead, Dmitri's in the wind, and you're with two of the world's greatest assassins-I'm sure you'll be fine."

Georgy visibly flinches at the word "assassin." Maybe I shouldn't have told him that...

"Okay, more like former assassin. Trust me: I can protect you. And don't worry about Bucky and Nick; they'll help keep you safe."

Georgy eyes me warily as he gets up to follow me back to Nick and Bucky, who are arguing over the best way to get out of the building.

"We need to solve this thing. We can leave markers for the paths we've been down and figure things out from there," Nick suggests.

"If this place is a fucking maze, that could take forever! I say we just break a few walls until we find our way out," Bucky retorts.

"Who knows what sort of booby traps have been set up! Plus, you may not be able to break through the walls as easily as you think."

"Have you seen this thing?" Bucky motions to his left arm. "I'm pretty sure I can bust through some drywall."

"I don't know if you noticed, but the walls are made of  _metal_ , not drywall."

"And you think that's going to stop me? Tasha! What do you think?"

"I think you're both being idiots. Pick something. We need to track down Dmitri before he makes any more deadly rash decisions. Oh, by the way, this is Georgy Ungern. Please try not to terrify the kid any more than he already is. He just lost his whole family."

"Dang. Okay, okay, I'll be nice. So... breaking down walls?" Bucky grins at me.

"Go try it-that'll end this argument once and for all."

Bucky springs off the floor, dashing out into the hallway. Smiling ear to ear, he pulls his arm back and smashes the wall with as much force as he can muster. The dull metal simply dents. The grin drops from Bucky's face and is replaced by a deep scowl. Nick struggles to control his laughter; I elbow him in the ribs to shut him up.

"So... my plan, then?" he chuckles. Bucky turns to give him a death glare that makes even me cringe. I glance over at Georgy, who is absolutely petrified.

"Bucky," I hiss, "remember, you're supposed to  _not_  scare the crap out of the kid!"

"Sorry, Natasha." A cheesy grin spreads across his face, "Hey. I'm Bucky. Sorry about scaring you. I'm really not that bad of a guy. Natasha and I are actually good friends."

"Are you really friends with him?" Georgy whispers to me, fear and confusion in his eyes.

"Yeah," I sigh. "Don't worry-he's not always like this. He's just in a mood where he feels like being an asshole," I roll my eyes.

"Hey!" Bucky interjects.

"You can't really deny that, James," Nick glares at him.

"I guess not... And don't call me James!"

"Who the hell is James?" Georgy asks.

"James is Bucky's first name. No one really calls him that. Ever," I explain. Georgy still looks confused, but he nods slowly, pretending to know what the hell is going on. "So, now that it's been discovered that brute force won't get us out of here, let's solve this maze."

"Did he just say what I think he did?" Nick whispers to me. I nod slowly, still unwilling to accept the situation at hand. This is bad. Very,  _very_  bad. Taking out humans is easy. Fighting someone like Bucky is near impossible. We've trained together-he knows how I operate; I can't surprise him. And his brute strength alone makes this a very unfair fight. I don't know if we'll make it out of this one alive; Bucky would do just about anything to protect Erin, even if that includes killing two of his best friends.

Leonid's smug smile grows even wider at the looks of abject horror on our faces. "Dmitri! It's time!" he yells. Dmitri strides into the room, closely followed by a heavily armed Bucky. It isn't hard to see how pleased they are with this turn of events. Bucky's face is somber, but his eyes are full of determination. Killing us is just a means to an end for him.

"Bucky. They're lying to you. Erin is back home, remember?" I plead, hoping to get through to him.

"You've always been an excellent liar, Natasha. Why should I trust you?" he growls.

"Because I'm your friend! I don't want to hurt you." I take a step forward, but he takes a step back. "Bucky, I trust you with my life. Do you trust me with yours?"

He looks down at the floor, uncertain of what to do. When his gaze finally meets mine again, all I can see is confusion in his eyes. "But Erin-"

"Is at home! I promise! We're in Russia on a case, and she would have no reason to be here! These guys probably don't even know about Hydra! They're lying to you!" Okay, now I'm getting exasperated.

"She's the one that's lying! It's what she does, isn't it? She manipulates people!" Dmitri objects.

"Yeah, but..." Bucky looks to his captor, eyes pleading for the truth.

"Then kill her and we'll give Erin back!"

"James Buchanan Barnes, you listen to me. There is absolutely NO WAY I would ever let your wife come with on a mission like this. Hell, I wouldn't even let Clint come with Natasha. And trust me, he tried." Nick glances at my stunned face before continuing. "I almost didn't even let you come. And hell, if I had made you stay home, we probably wouldn't even be in this mess, but you never know. There's very little that we can do to change this situation. You're the one with the gun. The one that has an important decision to make."

"What would Steve do?" I try another tactic. "Your best friend-would he  _ever_  kill his friends based solely on the word of a serial killer?"

Bucky opens his mouth to speak, but falters.

"And how do you think Erin will react when she finds out you killed Nick and me?"

Bucky clenches his jaw, slowly becoming more certain of what he needs to do.

"What are you waiting for? Kill them! They're lying to you! Think about it: when's the last time one of them actually told you the truth?" Dmitri screams.

Doubt returns to Bucky's face as he searches mine. I soften my expression, silently pleading with him to listen to reason. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Leonid slowly repositioning himself behind Bucky. In his hands is one of the guns from the crates.

"Bucky! Behind you!" I yell as Leonid raises his weapon. Bucky whips around and effortlessly shoots Leonid right between his eyes. The sound of his body hitting the floor is covered by Dmitri's anguished screams. Before any of us can react, he slams the butt of his gun into Bucky's temple and sprints out the door. Bucky crumples to the ground, not quite unconscious, but certainly disoriented. I rush over to him and attempt to help him to his feet. Nick comes over and shoves Bucky back to the floor.

"Stay down. You've done enough. Natasha, go follow Dmitri. I don't want him getting away."

"But-"

"Don't argue. Go."

I run out after Dmitri, but am unsure which way he went. The hallway branches at either end. Since I'm unfamiliar with the layout of the building, I pick a direction and run. After a few minutes of winding through seemingly endless hallways, I find myself back where I began and no closer to finding Dmitri. Nick is shocked to see me back so soon, empty handed.

"Romanoff! Where's Krushnic?"

"No clue. This place is actually a fucking maze," I wheeze, unusually exhausted. "I'm not even sure how we're going to get out of here, much less how to find Dmitri."

"Dammit, Natasha, you're supposed to be good at these things!"

"It's not my fault we were kidnapped by a psychopath and put in the middle of a maze! Stop placing all the blame on me and help me figure out how we're going to leave!"

Nick opens his mouth to retort, but decides against it. He stares down at the floor in silence.

"Hey, Tasha? Wasn't there some kid here?" Bucky asks from his seat on the floor.

"Shit! I forgot about Georgy!" I jog back into the room where we found Nick, calling his name. Nothing. The kid probably heard the gunshot and is terrified right now. "Georgy! It's okay! You can come out! One of the men that took you is dead, and the other is gone. You're safe with me."

Georgy slowly crawls out from behind a stack of boxes, "You're sure that it's safe?"

"Leonid's dead, Dmitri's in the wind, and you're with two of the world's greatest assassins-I'm sure you'll be fine."

Georgy visibly flinches at the word "assassin." Maybe I shouldn't have told him that...

"Okay, more like former assassin. Trust me: I can protect you. And don't worry about Bucky and Nick; they'll help keep you safe."

Georgy eyes me warily as he gets up to follow me back to Nick and Bucky, who are arguing over the best way to get out of the building.

"We need to solve this thing. We can leave markers for the paths we've been down and figure things out from there," Nick suggests.

"If this place is a fucking maze, that could take forever! I say we just break a few walls until we find our way out," Bucky retorts.

"Who knows what sort of booby traps have been set up! Plus, you may not be able to break through the walls as easily as you think."

"Have you seen this thing?" Bucky motions to his left arm. "I'm pretty sure I can bust through some drywall."

"I don't know if you noticed, but the walls are made of  _metal_ , not drywall."

"And you think that's going to stop me? Tasha! What do you think?"

"I think you're both being idiots. Pick something. We need to track down Dmitri before he makes any more deadly rash decisions. Oh, by the way, this is Georgy Ungern. Please try not to terrify the kid any more than he already is. He just lost his whole family."

"Dang. Okay, okay, I'll be nice. So... breaking down walls?" Bucky grins at me.

"Go try it-that'll end this argument once and for all."

Bucky springs off the floor, dashing out into the hallway. Smiling ear to ear, he pulls his arm back and smashes the wall with as much force as he can muster. The dull metal simply dents. The grin drops from Bucky's face and is replaced by a deep scowl. Nick struggles to control his laughter; I elbow him in the ribs to shut him up.

"So... my plan, then?" he chuckles. Bucky turns to give him a death glare that makes even me cringe. I glance over at Georgy, who is absolutely petrified.

"Bucky," I hiss, "remember, you're supposed to  _not_  scare the crap out of the kid!"

"Sorry, Natasha." A cheesy grin spreads across his face, "Hey. I'm Bucky. Sorry about scaring you. I'm really not that bad of a guy. Natasha and I are actually good friends."

"Are you really friends with him?" Georgy whispers to me, fear and confusion in his eyes.

"Yeah," I sigh. "Don't worry-he's not always like this. He's just in a mood where he feels like being an asshole," I roll my eyes.

"Hey!" Bucky interjects.

"You can't really deny that, James," Nick glares at him.

"I guess not... And don't call me James!"

"Who the hell is James?" Georgy asks.

"James is Bucky's first name. No one really calls him that. Ever," I explain. Georgy still looks confused, but he nods slowly, pretending to know what the hell is going on. "So, now that it's been discovered that brute force won't get us out of here, let's solve this maze."

 


	7. Chapter 7

We stock up on stolen weapons before tackling the maze. I step forward to take the lead, but Nick pulls me back.

"Something's off with you. Let Bucky lead us out of here."

"That knockout gas Dmitri used on us is having some unexpected side effects," I mutter, looking down at the floor.

"You think it could have affected my arm? 'Cuz I know I totally could have busted through that wall under normal circumstances," Bucky grumbles.

"It's possible. Nick, have you felt a bit off since waking up?"

"Not that I've noticed," he shrugs.

"Weird."

We walk in silence for a while, each of us lost in thought. The hallways all look the same, and we're getting increasingly frustrated the longer we walk. We round a corner and find ourselves at a dead end. Exhausted and annoyed, I sink to the floor.

"Fuck this. Fuck Dmitri. Fuck everything!" I yell. "This was supposed to be a simple job! Now we're stuck in this fucking maze! I just want to go home..."

Bucky crouches down to place a hand on my arm. "Tasha, calm down. We'll find a way out of here."

"No! I can't even think straight in this place. Fucking Dmitri has thrown me completely off. I don't know what was in that knockout gas, but it's really messed me up."

"I feel like you're not telling us everything. Natasha, are you okay?"

"No I'm not fucking okay! I'm tired. I'm frustrated. All I want right now is to be at home with my husband! I honestly don't even know what day it is right now, but we've been in Russia way too fucking long."

"Maybe we should rest here for a while."

"Okay," I yawn, "but only for a little while. Dmitri's still out there doing God knows what." Leaning back against the wall, I allow my eyes to close, exhaustion completely shutting me down. What is wrong with me? I shouldn't be this tired. I'm an Avenger, goddammit! We're stronger than this!

I feel Bucky's arm brush up against mine as he takes a seat next to me. Georgy quickly follows suit, but Nick, like the stubborn jackass that he is, remains standing.

"So what did Erin say when you told her you were coming along on this mission?" I ask, turning my head slightly and opening my eyes so I can see Bucky's face.

"Well, she wasn't terribly happy with me," he replies, staring at his shoes. "She warned me that you would be pissed as hell-and my God, was she right."

"Then why did you come?"

"I don't know. Because I'm an idiot? I was worried something horrible would happen and, to be perfectly honest, a little pissed I wasn't asked to come along. I know I don't have the right to butt in on your missions, but this place holds significance for me, too. I was being selfish and overprotective, as per freakin' usual."

"Enough chit-chat," Nick interrupts. "We need to keep moving."

"Fine. Wanna help me up?" I reach my hand out towards him. Noticing Nick's lack of assistance, Bucky quickly stands and pulls me to my feet. Wow. Nick's really in a bad mood. Maybe the knockout gas is affecting him more than he knows...

"Excuse me, ma'am, but when do you think we'll be leaving?" Georgy asks.

"No clue. My guess is we'll be wandering around here for a while before we find the exit."

"Do you think the exit could be hidden like the other doors we've come across?"

"It's entirely possible. Okay, everyone start hitting the walls to check for hidden doors!"

Hallway after hallway, door after door, it's all dead ends. How the fuck did Dmitri leave? There doesn't seem to be anything resembling an exit here.

"Having fun?" Dmitri's voice resonates in the hallway. We all turn wildly, searching for the source of the sound. "In case you're wondering, there  _is_  an exit. It's just so well hidden that I doubt you'll ever find it. And as fun as it is to slowly watch you all go insane, it's probably safer for me to contain you." Contain us? Aren't we already contained within this maze? Unless... "Yes, you will be going back to sleep for a while. I know, it's unpleasant, and I'm sure you've been experiencing some nasty side effects, but it really is necessary. Sleep well, my puppets." His maniacal laughter fades away as the hallway floods with white smoke. I fight unconsciousness long enough to see a man in a gas mask walk around the corner, probably coming to move us-chain us up-again.

"Fuck you," I whisper weakly in his general direction. "When I wake up, I  _will_  kill you. There's no doubt in my mind that you will not leave this place alive."

He crouches down, bringing his face inches from mine. Brushing my hair from my eyes, he smiles, whispering words I can no longer comprehend. Then the blackness slowly drags me under.

The first time I was knocked out, there was nothing but darkness until I woke up. Now, I'm dreaming vividly. I think I'm in the Helicarrier, strapped to a shiny table in a dark room. A single light fixture dangles from the ceiling above me. I can faintly hear the roar of the engines, entangled with bloodcurdling screams.

"Take cover!" I hear Steve yell above the din. "We can't let Loki's men get to the engine room!" Loki? Fuck. Guess I'm going to be fighting Chitauri again. Once I figure out how to break free, of course.

"Hey, Nat." Clint steps out of the shadows, hands behind his back. A glimmer of hope that he's himself passes through me before I really see him. The blue glow from Loki's scepter shines in his usually grey eyes. Fuck.

"Clint. Listen to me. This isn't you. Please, let me go."

"Can't do that. I was told to take you out."

"Please, just think about what you're doing!"

"Oh, I know exactly what I'm doing." He finally brings his hands around him front of his body; he's gripping the handle of a long dagger and a .45 revolver. "Loki promised me that I could have as much time as I needed to kill you. It's a good thing he did, because I want this to be as slow as possible."

"Why? Clint, I love you!"

"Stop lying to me!" he bellows. "You never loved me, you've just been using me, manipulating me into doing whatever you want. But I can see that now. My eyes have been opened to your true intentions. You're just a manipulative bitch who is incapable of feeling love. You're heartless, Natasha."

"No! This is Loki trying to trick you, not me! I know I have a complicated history where I used a lot of people for my own benefit, but that's the past!"

"Our whole relationship was based on a lie!"

"Maybe it started out that way, but I do love you. Do you really think I would have married you if I felt otherwise?" A single tear slips down my cheek as I stare up into his eyes. His expression softens slightly, but then his mouth contorts into a frown.

"Just more lies to try to save yourself, as usual. I think I've heard enough from you." He shoves a gag in my mouth and stands menacingly over me, staring at his reflection in his knife. "Time to have a little fun."

He slips the blade under the hem of my shirt and tears it away. Carefully, he traces the scar above my left hip. Without warning, he slices the skin across my stomach open with one quick movement. I inhale sharply in surprise and pain. My response elicits a small smirk from Clint. He works his way up my torso, occasionally cutting my skin with the sharp tip of his knife. He presses it to the nape of my neck; blood bubbles up around it, pooling on my chest. My breath is quick and shallow as he drags his knife up to my face.

"Say goodbye to your good looks, Natasha. By the time I'm finished, not even Nick will be able to recognize you."

Several hours of Clint slicing open my flesh and laughing maniacally pass. The blood loss has made me woozy, and my eyelids flutter shut.

"Open your eyes, Nat. I want to be able to see the life leave them." Clint pulls the gag from my mouth.

"No."

"Open your fucking eyes! Or I will open them for you!"

I shake my head slowly, determined not to give in. "This is only a dream," I whisper to myself. "It has to be. The pain may feel real, but it's because I've felt it before."

"You're wrong," Clint smirks. "This is no nightmare. You're about to die, Natasha. At the hands of the person you claim to love most. How does it feel to be so horribly betrayed?"

"This isn't you. If I must die, I want my last words to be the truth: I love you, Clint. Nothing can change that. You are the only person I've ever felt so connected to. As cheesy as it sounds, you really do complete me. When you're back to yourself and realize what you've done," I finally open my eyes to look deep into his, "remember that I died telling you how much I love you."

My heartfelt words seem to enrage him. He lunges forward, his fingers wrapping around my bloodied throat. I struggle for air as he slowly crushes my trachea. My vision gets blurry, then I slip back down into the darkness, the hatred in Clint's glowing eyes the last thing I clearly see.


	8. Chapter 8

            I gasp for breath as I snap back to consciousness. Looking around, I discover I’m in the same room as before, only this time, I’m completely alone, and instead of being tied to a wooden chair, I’m now chained to a wall. My wrists are bound in shackles above my head, and my legs dangle hopelessly, the ground a mere inch below where my toes can reach.

            I scream obscenities into the silence, still trying to shake off the terror I felt in my dream. Eventually, my throat gets hoarse and I fall quiet. Before I can stop them, tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I let out all of my anger and fear as I weep, embracing the vulnerability I’m currently feeling.

            “Clint, I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I should have listened to you and stayed home. How could I have known it would end up like this? Now I’m probably going to die here without ever seeing you again. It’s kind of funny, that I’m going to die where I was born. God, I miss you. I love you.”

            “That was so touching,” Dmitri mocks me from the doorway. How did I not hear him come in? “You know, you could rethink my earlier offer and live a bit longer. I might even fly your husband here, so you two can die together.”

            “You son of a bitch.”

            “Hey, no need for such vulgar language! Wouldn’t it be better if you died together? The pain of living without the other would be unimaginable…”

            This is true. I can’t imagine the grief Clint would feel if I died on a mission he tried to stop me from going on. It’s hard enough for him as it is being away from me for extended periods of time… Wait. Am I really considering this? What is wrong with me? Actually, I think I can use this altered state of mind to my advantage…

            “It’s almost bittersweet, isn’t it?” I muse, staring off into space. “If you killed us both at once, we wouldn’t have to experience the loss of the other.”

            “I’m glad you’re starting to see things my way.” A wide grin spreads across his face. “So, do we have an agreement?”

           “It appears so.” I force a smile, trying to be convincing without overselling it.

            “Excellent! I guess I won’t have to kill your friends in front of you after all!” Dmitri practically skips out of the room, locking the door behind him. My smile fades into a scowl as I stare up at the metal cuffs around my wrists. It looks like I’m going to have to manipulate my way out of this one.

            Alone again, I decide to actually analyze my surroundings. The walls are made of the same dull metal as the hallways and are probably 15 feet high. The floor is a dark concrete marked by various bloodstains. The chair I broke earlier has been shoved into the corner farthest from the door. The wall across from me has a large window in the center of it, but the room on the other side is pitch black,  so I can only see myself reflected in the glass. My eyes are still a little puffy, the tip of my nose slightly red. My hair has started to curl again, causing it to stick out in odd places. Blood rushes to my cheeks as I realize how disheveled I look. I drop my head, and as my chin hits my chest, I realize my necklace is gone. That bastard must have taken it off while I was unconscious! I was already planning a slow death for him, but now I’m throwing in a bit more torture.

            A few hours later, Dmitri returns with a tray full of food. Sausage, toast, redskin potatoes, and strawberries are the main things I can see amongst the piles.

            “Hungry?” he asks cheerfully. My stomach growls in response. How long has it been since I last ate? How long have I been here? Let’s see… It was Saturday when we went to the graveyard, so it must be Sunday. Or Monday. Maybe I should ask. Or maybe it’s better not to know.

            Dmitri sets the tray on the floor, grabs a slice of toast, and attempts to force-feed me. I instinctively resist until I remember I’m supposed to play along. I take a bite, wincing at the bitterness of the bread as I chew. Noticing my obvious disgust, Dmitri picks up a boiled potato. Luckily, he picked bite-size ones. These are better, though they’re still not very good. The sausage is too full of gristle for my taste. Finally, he gives me a strawberry. Cool and sweet, it’s easily the best thing I’ve tasted in days. At least, I assume it’s only been days. Pleased that I actually like something he brought me, Dmitri feeds me the rest of the strawberries. He then leaves abruptly, grinning like an idiot. This can’t be good.

            The lights in the room across from me turn on, revealing Dmitri standing behind Georgy, who is on a platform with a noose around his neck. His eyes, full of anger and fear, widen as they meet mine. Guilt washes over me; I promised him I’d get him home safely.

            “Please, don’t kill him!” I plead.

            “He was never going to survive this, Natasha. You really shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” Dmitri grins wickedly, his hand on a lever. “Besides, I always kill the boys on Tuesdays.” Tuesday? Did he just say _Tuesday?_ My God, how long was I unconscious? “Did you not know how long you’ve been here?” he cocks his head. “3 and a half days, and no one has come looking for you. Pity.” He’s right. No one knows we’re missing, so why would they come find us? “Anyway, say goodbye to our little friend here. He’s about to go to sleep for the last time.”

            Georgy takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He does his best to hide his fear, but his knees quiver ever so slightly. Time seems to slow as Dmitri tugs on the lever. The platform gives way and Georgy drops. A scream tears its way out of my throat, but I know it’s too late. The sudden drop combined with the weight of his body would cause his neck to snap. His arms hang limply at his sides as he sways gently.

            It’s official: I’ve failed. I couldn’t even protect this innocent teenage boy. And I’m not even fighting a supervillain. Dmitri is just your typical psychopathic serial killer, who somehow bested me _twice_. How can I keep pretending to be okay with our deal after this? No, I can’t think that way. I _have to_ pull myself together, be convincing enough that Dmitri will let his guard down, and then I can get the hell out of here. Then I can go home.

            “Natasha,” Dmitri calls, his voice sickly sweet with fake concern. “Are you okay? That couldn’t have been easy for you to watch.”

            “It’s not like I’ve never watched someone die before,” I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant.

            “You are quite the femme fatale,” he agrees. “Your initial reaction was not so calm, though. Let this be a lesson to you: never promise someone you’ll be able to get them out alive. When you ultimately fail, they will die cursing your name.”

            I nod as I drop my eyes. It’s probably best to just keep agreeing with him if I want to survive.

            “I’m glad we’re on the same page. Hopefully you got my true message and won’t try to double-cross me. There are two more hostages I know you care deeply about. Don’t make me hurt them.” Dmitri’s eyes narrow to slits as he stares me down. I keep my gaze focused on the floor, but I can see him in the edges of my vision. He storms out, leaving the light on behind him. I can’t bear to look back into that room, at poor, innocent Georgy. At the boy I failed to save.

            If I’m going to fight back, I have to be successful. Any mistake would be deadly for Nick and Bucky. First, I need a solid plan. How in the hell am I going to be able to pull this off? Think, Natalia. You’ve done this hundreds of times. You’re a professional assassin, this shouldn’t be difficult. God, that knockout gas is making it hard to think straight. Maybe some more sleep will help me clear my mind…


	9. Chapter 9

            When I open my eyes again, I discover I’m no longer alone in my prison. A man is kneeling on the floor a few feet away from me, wrists chained to the ground, head hung low.

            “Hello?” I ask, my voice hoarse. His head lifts. Our eyes meet, and a heavy silence hangs in the air. So many questions swirl around my head, but I am unsure what to ask first. The only word I croak out is “how?”

            Even though he’s been badly beaten, he grins, his lip splitting even more in the process. “Heya, Nat. How’s it hangin’?” I stare at him, dumbfounded. His smile slowly fades as I remain silent. “Get it? Hangin’? ‘Cuz you’re—”

            “Clint, what the fuck are you doing here? How…?”

            “Well, I figured something had to have gone wrong when you didn’t come home after a few days like you promised. I went to the hotel you had been staying in and was greeted by this random guy. He told me he knew where you might be, led me outside, and used some sort of gas on me. When I woke up, I was here.”

            “Oh, this is bad. This is very bad. Did you tell _anyone_ that you were coming here?”

            “Not really. I had to cancel my plans with Steve, but he doesn’t actually know why.”

            “Clint!” I admonish him. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

            “I don’t know,” he shrugs, “I figured this would be something I could handle on my own. Which, now that I think about it, is incredibly stupid since I knew something bad had happened to you. If _you_ couldn’t kill him, why on Earth did I think I would save the day by myself?”

            “Oh good. You’re both awake.” Dmitri walks in, absolutely beaming. “Have you had a chance to catch up?”

            If I wasn’t chained to this wall, I swear I would rip his fucking throat out with my _teeth_. Clint, unaware of how sick and dangerous this bastard is, grins up at him like an idiot.

            “I guess you weren’t lying when you said you knew where Nat might be,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, as per freakin’ usual.

            “Oh yes, Nat and I have had a great time the last few days, haven’t we?” My nickname sounds so wrong coming out of Dmitri’s mouth. I don’t even let the other Avengers call me that.

            I feel a sudden urge to break my thumbs to escape the shackles and kill him once and for all. Luckily, I quickly realize there is no way that would end well. Plus, I’d be out of commission for a while. I can’t stand sitting around doing nothing for long periods of time.

            “Why so angry, Nat?” Dmitri looks hurt. “Are you forgetting our deal? This is what you wanted: to die alongside your husband so neither of you would have to grieve. But you know all about grieving, don’t you?” He cocks his head to the side as he strides closer to me. “Are you ready to say goodbye to everything?” Clint watches helplessly from the floor as Dmitri pulls out a revolver. He presses the muzzle to my temple, then turns away from me. “You have one hell of a wife. I hope you appreciated her as much as you should.”

            “She’s the love of my life,” Clint’s eyes well up with tears. “Please, you don’t have to kill us. We can go back home and pretend none of this ever happened.”

            “I’m afraid that’s not an option. To be honest, the deal she made was the best one I was going to offer her.”

            “You promised we would die at the same time! That we would die next to each other!” I protest, fighting to stay in control of my emotions; Dmitri doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of watching me cry and beg for my life.

            “I suppose you’re right…” He lowers the gun while he thinks about the best way to handle the situation. “This may be quite difficult now since you’ve killed my father.”

            “To be fair, that was Bucky.”

            “Still. I don’t have a second person to carry out your husband’s execution. And shooting you both at once could prove quite difficult.”

            “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

            “Okay, I guess you’ll get a bit more time before I’m finally rid of you.” Dmitri stares at the two of us before awkwardly leaving. I release the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

            “Nat, who is this guy, and what deal did you make with him?” Clint asks angrily.

            “He’s a serial killer. A major psychopath. He’s already killed about 40 people, including one just a few hours ago. At least, I think it was a few hours ago. The lights are off now, but he hanged a teenage boy in the room on the other side of that window. Dmitri was working with his father for a while. They killed his mother soon after we met with her. Bucky shot his dad a few days ago. I think it was a few days ago. What day did you come here?”

            “Wednesday. And the deal?” he asks, impatient.

            “Wednesday? Okay, so he killed the kid yesterday. And tomorrow is Thursday. Fuck. That means I’ve been in Russia for a week now.”

            “Nat! The deal?”

            “The deal,” I sigh, “bought me some time. I didn’t expect you to actually _be_ here.”

            “What, exactly, did you agree to?”

            “The details were a little vague, but I’m pretty sure Dmitri wants me to somehow fall in love with him. He mentioned Stockholm Syndrome the first time we talked.”

            “What did he promise you?”

            “Time, mainly. And the opportunity to die with you at my side. I took advantage of my bizarre mental state caused by the knockout gas and convinced him I was unstable enough to accept such a crazy deal.”

            “So now that I’m here, he knows you’ll never willingly love him, but to kill me and keep you from turning away from him, he has to kill you, too.”

            “Exactly. If he kills you, there’s no way he’s getting anywhere near me, except for when I snap his neck.”

            “So what are we going to do?”

            “I have no idea. I’m currently too weak to be of any help, plus I can’t feel my arms. Is there any way for you to get out of those cuffs?”

            Clint tugs on his restraints. “Maybe. It might require breaking a few bones, but if it’s that or dying…”

            “But how well can we fight with broken bones?”

            “I guess we’re going to have to find out.”

            “I’m back!” Dmitri announces from the door. “And I’ve come up with the perfect way to do this. Now, I hate to hurt you, but I’m sure you’ll understand why this is necessary.” He pulls a hammer from behind his back and smashes my right kneecap with it. A sharp pain shoots up my leg, which slowly subsides to a dull ache. I glance down to see blood spreading out from the wound. “That should keep you from causing too much damage.” He unlocks my shackles, and I drop heavily to the floor. I lay in a heap, too injured to move. Taking hold of my wrists, Dmitri drags me over to Clint. I attempt to reach out to him, but my arms refuse to move. Pins and needles prickle my fingertips as blood rushes back into my extremities.

            Dmitri walks back out into the hallway, leaving Clint and me inches apart on the ground. Our eyes meet, tears pouring freely down his face. Seeing his anguish makes me tear up, and I abandon all hope of dying with dignity as I allow myself to cry.

            “I love you, Nat.”

            “I love you, Clint. With all my heart.”

            “I hate to interrupt such a precious moment, but it’s time.” Dmitri places a bullet into the revolver he’s holding. He does the same with a second one, spinning the cylinder a few times. “Just for fun, I figured we’d do this Russian roulette style.”

            “How can you kill us both at once if when we die is based on random chance?’ I glare up at him.

            “Oh, I decided this would be more interesting. I’ll still pull both triggers at once, it’ll just be a surprise when you get shot.” He raises the guns, aiming them directly at our hearts. “Ready to have some fun?” He pulls the triggers. _Click. Click._ We survive round one. _Click. Click._ The odds of dying increase with each pull of the trigger. _Click. Click._ Only 3 left. How long will it take? Will we go at the same time? _Click. Bang._ Blood pumps out of the wound in Clint’s chest as he sinks to the floor, gushing in spurts in time with his fading heartbeat. I’m too stunned to speak as I watch the life drain from my husband. _Click._ Just my luck. Looks like I have to watch Clint die anyway. I close my eyes, bracing for the impact. But nothing happens.

            “Nat,” Clint wheezes. I open my eyes, actually afraid for the first time in years. “I… I…”

            “Shh. Don’t speak. I know.”

            “I…” His eyes glass over as he falls silent for the final time. Anger and grief hit me like a tidal wave, pinning me to the floor.

            “Just do it!” I scream. “Kill me! Do it! I don’t want to live anymore! Pull the trigger!” _Click._ Six rounds. I’m still alive. “Why? Why am I still alive?”

            “Your gun was never loaded, my dear.”

            “No. No! KILL ME!”

            “Not just yet.” Dmitri strides out of the room, chuckling to himself. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

            “You sick bastard!” I sob, slowly dragging myself closer to Clint’s body. “You fucking promised!” My arms jerk awkwardly, the feeling not fully returned to them yet. I place a hand on his cheek and close his eyes, which are hauntingly empty. His blood soaks into my clothes, but I can’t be bothered to care. I lay my head on his chest, missing the familiar rhythm of his heart. The silence is absolutely deafening. “You were never supposed to be here. This was _my_ fight to lose, not yours. Why did I ever think I could trust Dmitri to stick to our deal? I’m so sorry, Clint. If only you knew that I—”

            “Natasha?” I look up to find Bucky standing in the doorway. “Is… Is that…” He rushes forward, dropping to my side. “How did he get here? What happened?”

            “He got worried when I was gone longer than planned and came to save the day. Dmitri convinced me that he would kill us both at once, but he lied. Now Clint…”

            Bucky slowly shakes his head, disbelief written all over his face. “Natasha, do you know where you are right now?” What I thought was disbelief is now very clearly concern.

            “What do you mean? We’re in a warehouse designed like a maze somewhere in Russia. Wait, why aren’t you handcuffed or something? How did you escape?”

            “Escape what? Look around you. We’re in a hospital. We were in an accident on our way back to Volgograd from Arkhangelsk. You disappeared from your room. We’ve been looking for you for a while.”

            I look down and find the body of a man I don’t know. Upon further inspection of my surroundings, I determine I’m in a morgue. What the actual fuck.

            “I’m gonna help you back to your room now, okay? Clint is on his way.” Bucky lifts me effortlessly and carefully sets me down, the floor cold against my bare feet. Together we walk through the swinging doors into an unfamiliar hallway.

            “Natasha!” someone behind me yells. “I told you I wasn’t finished with you yet!” Dmitri raises his gun and fires. Pain blossoms in my chest, the sound of the shot filling my ears. Within seconds, Bucky is down the hallway, beating Dmitri in his grief-fueled rage. Based on the location of the pain and the fuzzy feeling in my head, I doubt I’ll make it out alive. We may be in a hospital, but I doubt they have much life-saving machinery in the morgue. I lay on the floor, unmoving, listening to Dmitri’s strangled cries for help. Bucky is relentless, slowly killing my soon-to-be murderer. This is definitely not how I anticipated this mission going. My eyes flutter closed as I gradually let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is super confusing, but it was written that way on purpose. This is to show Natasha's mental state (i.e. she has no idea what's real anymore or that this is all a dream.)


	10. Chapter 10

            A nearby explosion wrenches me from my sleep. I’m back in the warehouse, hanging on the wall. Was that all just a dream? But it felt so real… How can I trust anything right now? Wait. There was some sort of explosion. What’s happening?

            Distant shouts and the sounds of stomping feet fill the air. Does Dmitri have an army? Where’s Hulk when you need him? The din gets louder, and, as I seem to have done way too many times lately, I prepare myself to die. All I can do is accept my fate, if this is, in fact, real.

            “Natasha?” a female voice calls for me.

            “Natasha, where are you?” a much more familiar voice shouts. I can’t get my hopes up—this may all just be a dream.

            “I’m in here!” I yell as loudly as possible. The effort it took to speak completely exhausts me.

            “I think I heard something! Natasha, is that you?”

            “Yes,” I reply weakly, too quietly to actually be heard. I kick my foot out and let it fall back against the wall, creating a dull thudding sound. This seems much louder than my voice, so I do it a few more times. About a minute later, Maria Hill comes racing through the surprisingly unlocked door.

            “Agent Romanoff! Thank goodness you’re okay!”

            “I’ll be a lot better once you let me down,” I mutter.

            “Oh! Yes, of course!” Maria scrambles forward, her hands fluttering about my restraints.

            “Maria, is Clint here?”

            “Somewhere,” she shrugs. “He would want to be here, wouldn’t he?” she picks up her radio. “Barton—I found her. I’ll send you my coordinates.”

            “Is she okay?” His voice is rough and thick with concern.

            “Seeing how the first things she did was sass me, I’d have to say yes.”

            “That’s my girl,” Clint chuckles. “I’ll be right there.” Despite the laugh, I can still hear how uneasy he is; he’s probably feared the worst for so long that only seeing me with his own eyes will calm him down.

            “So how much has he been freaking out?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

            “Much more than he lets on. In private, he’s kind of a mess.”

            “Nat!” Relief floods his face as I grin at him. He rushes across the room, practically colliding with me as he tries to stop. His hands are on my face, in my hair. After he’s reassured himself I’m actually there and alive, he gazes up at my wrists. He fumbles with the compartment on my belt, trying to find my laser cutter. Having no luck, he looks up at me with a puzzled expression on his face.

            “I must have lost it while we were wandering the hallways for hours,” I sigh weakly. “There’s gotta be keys somewhere in this building.”

            “Hill. Can you go look for keys?”

            “Sure thing,” Maria nods and jogs out the door.

            “How did you find me?”

            “You have a tracker in your belt, remember? Maria was concerned when Nick didn’t send her an update on the mission Sunday morning. I tried to convince her we should go, but she was determined to wait, in case she got word from him that you guys were okay. By Tuesday, I was practically begging her to go. I can’t believe I let you be held captive for so long…”

            “Hey. It’s not your fault. None of this was supposed to happen. I should have been able to handle this mission.”

            “Speaking of, who did this to you?” he asks, his temper flaring.

            “Someone who won’t get away with it.”

            “I found them!” Maria interrupts. She stands a few feet away, looking quite proud of herself. “They were buried on a desk a few rooms down.”

            “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to get me down?” I ask impatiently.

            “Oh, right!” As she stumbles forward, Clint snatches the keys from her hand. He unlocks my wrists, steadying me as I touch the ground, _actually_ _touch the ground_ , for the first time in days. My arms hang limply, completely useless, as Clint pulls me into a tight embrace.

            “I’m so glad you’re alive, Nat.” The break in his voice physically pains me. I can’t imagine what he went through the last few days.

            “I’m okay, I promise. I just need to lie down for a bit. Have you found Nick and Bucky yet?”

            “We found Nick in a locked box across the building, but there’s been no sign of Bucky,” Maria replies, puzzled.

            “Dammit. Dmitri must have taken him somewhere. This can’t be good.”

            “Agent Romanoff—”

            “Maria,” I cut her off. “Seeing as we’ve known each other for _years_ and you basically just saved my life, I think you can call me Natasha.”

            “Of course,” she nods respectfully. “Natasha, do you know anything about the boy that was killed in the room through that window?”

            My whole body tenses. Feeling this abrupt change in my body language, Clint slowly releases me so he can see my face.

            “His name is, was, Georgy Ungern. He was a nice boy, about 15, and his whole family was murdered. His parents, Yuri and Marina, and his poor sisters, Anastasia and Katya. I found him bound to a chair when I first woke up, and I swore to protect him. Obviously, I failed.” I drop my eyes, ashamed of my failure. Clint places a hand on my chin, forcing me to look at him.

            “Nothing that happened here was in any way your fault. You gave that boy hope, and that’s more than the others got before they died. This is all on Dmitri, not you.”

            “But I—”

            “But nothing. You cannot blame yourself for any of this. Listen to me—we are going to find Dmitri and get justice for Georgy and everyone else that he killed. We’ll find Bucky, and we’ll all go back home. I swear to you, everything will be fine.”

            Tears slip down my face as I recall saying something eerily similar to Georgy. Clint pulls me back into his arms, letting me cry quietly on his shoulder. I’m not quite sure when Maria left, but when I finally look up again, she’s gone.

            “Let’s get you out of here. You need some rest.”

            “No! Don’t make me sleep anymore!”  
            “Hey, hey. No one’s making you do anything. If you don’t want to sleep, you don’t have to. But we should get you checked out by a doctor; you don’t look well.”

            “No doctors,” I shake my head stubbornly. “At least, not here. Maybe when we get home.”

            “Definitely when we get home.”

            “We’ll talk about this later. I need to rip Dmitri’s fucking head off, first.”

            “One thing at a time. You can’t even move your arms right now. Let’s focus on getting you to your hotel.” Clint gathers me in his arms and carries me out of what has been my prison for the last several days. Stepping over piles of rubble, we exit the warehouse through a giant hole in the wall. A limo waits outside, the engine still running.

            “Clint.” I grip his shoulder as tightly as possible, stopping him in his tracks. “You didn’t hire a driver through a local service, did you?”

            “We brought our own. Why?”

            “Because that’s what got us into so much trouble.”

            Clint looks confused, but doesn’t ask me to elaborate; he knows he’ll eventually get the whole story. Now is definitely not the time to pepper me with questions. Maria opens the door for us, and Clint gently sets me on the seat across from Nick. He slides in beside me, closely followed by Maria, who takes the empty seat across from him. And finally, we leave that hell hole.

            Despite my best efforts, my eyelids droop and I’m on the verge of sleep again. As soon as they close completely, all I see is Georgy. I jolt awake, startling Clint, who refuses to let go of me.

            “Nat, what’s wrong?”

            “I just…” I shake my head. “Don’t let me sleep, okay?”

            “If that’s what you really want…” Clint reluctantly agrees.

            “Trust me—it’s what she wants,” Nick says, staring intently out the window. “I can’t even imagine the awful things she’s seen.”

            “What is he talking about?” Clint turns to me.

            “Clint, sometimes you’re really dense,” I roll my eyes. “Just keep me awake. Please.”

            “You got it.”

            We’re quiet for the rest of the ride back to the hotel. I’m surprised Maria’s curiosity doesn’t get the best of her; she seems restless to know what happened. Nick continues to stare out the window while Maria practically bounces in the seat next to him. Clint and I curl up, making much more physical contact than I usually allow in public. I guess when you think you’re going to die, you tend to come to appreciate the little things. Plus, after a week apart, I don’t think Clint will allow any space between us. He anxiously rubs circles on the back of my hand with his thumb. Any time my eyes close, he kisses me gently to pull me back to reality.

            When we arrive back at the hotel, Clint attempts to pick me up again. I hold up my hand to stop him.

            “Don’t you think it would look a bit strange for you to carry me into a hotel? I can walk.”       It takes a bit of persuading, but he finally agrees, on the condition that he can at least hold my hand. Not in the mood to argue, I concede. Nikolay looks alarmed at our appearances, but doesn’t ask questions; he gets a bellboy to carry Clint and Maria’s luggage to their rooms. Clint insists I lie down and he fusses about me like the overly concerned husband he is.

            “Can I get you anything? Are you comfortable enough? Do you need to talk to Nick or Maria at all? Do you want to sleep? Do you feel like telling me what the hell happened? Is—”

            “Clint! If you’re going to ask me all these questions, at least give me time to answer!”

            “Fair enough. Where would you like to begin?”

            “First of all, no, I do not want to sleep. Not until I fully understand the psychological effects of the gas Dmitri used to knock me out.” Clint’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth, but I continue before he can speak. “No, I don’t need anything. Yes, I’m fine. No, Nick and Maria are not needed here. Let them rest. And yes, I’ll tell you what happened.”

            I proceed to tell Clint everything that has happened in the last few days, minus the haunting dreams; he really doesn’t need to have those nightmares floating around in his head. He listens intently, his attention never straying from what I have to say. When I finally finish my story, we sit in silence as Clint processes everything. I scan his face, taking in each and every detail. I really love the way his eyebrows furrow when he’s deep in thought...

            “So he used the knockout gas on you twice?”

            “That I know of.”

            “You said there were psychological effects. Are you okay?”

            “I’m fine.”

            “No, you’re not. What’s going on?”

            “A lot,” I sigh heavily. “When you came to rescue me, I was so out of it that I wasn’t sure what was happening was real. Whatever was in that gas has been causing me to have terrible, vivid nightmares.”

            “So _that’s_ why you don’t want to sleep… What have your dreams been about?”

            “Death and pain. The details are too awful—I don’t want to subject you to the horrors of my subconscious.”

            “You’re sure talking through them won’t help?” he asks gently, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.

            “If I told you, they’d probably become your nightmares, too.”

            “That bad, huh?”

            “You have no idea,” I shudder, trying to dispel the memories. “Can we talk about something else? What have you and Steve been up to?”

            “Oh, you know, the usual things. I’ve been trying to teach him how to play video games.”

            “I’m sure Jenna just _loves_ that,” I laugh. God, it feels good to actually laugh again.

            “There’s the Nat I know and love!” A crooked grin spreads across Clint’s face, eliciting a small smile from me. We talk through the night about anything and everything, except for the one thing I’ve been keeping secret.


	11. Chapter 11

            Clint dozes off at about 6 a.m., and I just lie there, watching him sleep peacefully in my arms. Exhaustion threatens to pull me under, but I fight it with every ounce of strength I have left. Maria stops by at 7:30 to check in on us and to inform me that Nick wants to speak with me privately.

            “Can it wait? I can’t really move right now without waking Clint.”

            “Oh, please. That man could sleep through an earthquake.”

            “That’s not the point,” I grumble, irked I have to get out of bed and leave my gorgeous, sleeping husband behind.

            “I’ll let Nick know you’ll be ready to meet with him in five minutes.” Maria turns on her heel and marches out the door.

            “Five minutes? Seriously?” I call after her, but she either doesn’t hear me or is ignoring my complaints. Probably the latter. I disentangle myself from Clint’s arms, throw on some clean clothes, and brush my hair and teeth. Maria shows up again just as I’m slipping on some shoes.

            “Good, you’re ready. Follow me.” Wow, Maria’s bossy today. She leads me down the hall to an empty conference room. “Sit. Nick will be here soon.” Soon? Dammit, Nick, where are you? I grab the closest chair and try to relax a bit. About 10 minutes later, Nick finally shows up.

            “Natasha. Good. You’re here. We need to discuss this past week and devise a new plan. How are you feeling?”

            “Honestly? Like shit. I’m afraid to sleep, and we still have no idea what all the side effects of that gas are.”

            “Psychologically, it seems to play off our weaknesses and deepest fears.”

            “I’d gathered that, thanks,” I sneer. “But what about physically?”

            “Other than exhaustion? No clue. We should get checked out by doctors.”

            “ _You_ should get checked out by doctors. I don’t think me being in a hospital is the best idea.”

            “I suppose you’re right. Okay, I’ll do that after we decide how we’re going to find Dmitri again.”

            “The good news is, he can’t use that cemetery again successfully, and since I don’t have family buried anywhere else, I shouldn’t be emotionally compromised again.”

            “That might not be a safe assumption based on the symptoms you’ve been showing.”

            “Fine. I probably won’t be emotionally compromised the same way I was before. Better?”

            “Yes. Now, according to Maria—er, Hill—we were about 50 miles south of Volgograd. It’s now Friday, so I assume we’ll be hearing reports of another murdered family soon. My best guess it he’s in Astrakhan’, unless he decided to stray from his predicted course.”

            “Should we wait for the reports to come in? Keep in mind we still need to find Bucky.”

            “I’m aware. We need to move as soon as possible, I’m just not sure which direction yet. Let’s wait for the call so we don’t waste time Bucky might not have.” Nick stands and moves toward the door.

            “Nick?” I turn to face him again. “When we do find Dmitri again, please, let me kill him. After all he’s put me through, this is _very_ personal.”

            “If you can talk Bucky and Clint into stepping down, sure.” And with that, Nick leaves me alone in the conference room. So that’s it? Was that really so urgent? He seemed like he had already decided what he was going to do, so why did he need me? I sit there, unsure of whether or not I’m allowed to leave. After a few minutes, I give up and go back to my room.

            Clint’s sprawled across the bed, our sheets twisted around him. His breaths are deep and slow. Not wanting to sleep anyway, I go take the first shower I’ve had in almost a week. I crank the heat up and let the torrents of water wash over me. The hot water stings as it hits my skin, bringing back memories from my first nightmare. I fight the urge to cry as I scrub viciously at my skin. But no matter how much I scrub, I still don’t feel clean. The stench of failure has cemented itself onto me, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be rid of it. I cry out in frustration and drop my bar of soap. There’s a knock on the glass, then Clint slides the door open.

            “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” I mumble, staring at my feet. One look at my bright red skin and the dejected look in my eyes cause him to pull me in close.

            “I’m okay. You’re not. Nat, what can I do to help you?”

            “I don’t know. Clint, how am I supposed to move on from this?”

            “That’s something we’ll find out together.” He strokes my wet, tangled hair and whispers sweet nothings in my ear.

            “The shower… your clothes are going to be soaking wet,” I murmur into his shoulder.        

            “I don’t care,” he whispers back. “All I care about is making you feel better. Nothing else matters.”

            I eventually finish my shower and attempt to mentally prepare myself for the day. _One step at a time, Natasha. You can do this._ I haven’t been this shaken since the night Erin, Jenna, and I fought Sin and Red Guardian.

            A harsh knock on the door derails my train of thought. Clint opens it to find Maria holding a stack of papers.

            “Director Fury needs you to analyze this information.” She stares pointedly at me while passing the papers to Clint. “In two hours, we’ll regroup.”

            “Two hours? My God, woman. Nat’s good, but I don’t think anyone can be _that_ good.” His jaw drops as he flips through the pile.

            “Well, she’s going to have to be.”

            “I’ll do my best,” I scowl, taking the papers from Clint, “but no promises.”

            “I’ll let Director Fury know.” Maria marches back across the hall to Nick’s room.

            “If he’s so close by, why do we have to deal with Maria? She’s awfully crabby today,” Clint frowns.

            “Give Nick a break—it’s been a long week. I don’t know what her deal is, though. I’ll have to ask Nick later if anything happened last night to cause this behavior.”

            “Please do. I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate it.”

            I sift through the stack of senseless dead-ends, hoping to find a lead that’ll pan out. Based on his profiles on popular social media sites, Dmitri has seemingly cut all ties to people from his past. They reach out to him in messages, checking to make sure he’s alright, but he never responds. Up until a few months ago (right before the murders started), he was very active online and actually talked to people. Since then, there’s been nothing.

            One message from a woman named Viktoria catches my eye. It reads:

                      My Dearest Dmitri,

                      I’m awfully sorry to hear about your sister’s condition. She has always been so kind to me. I know it must be difficult to

                      come to terms with, but I hope you are doing well. My deepest sympathies for the inevitable.

                      Love,

                      Viktoria <3

            Fascinating. Who is this Viktoria, and what the hell happened to Dmitri’s sister? Why didn’t I look into this before? I search for anything I can find on Katerina Averyanova, formerly Katerina Krushnic. She’s currently 36, married with two kids, and living in Saint Petersburg. And three months ago, she was diagnosed with stage 4 brain cancer. Inoperable. She’s only got a few months left to live. So this was Dmitri’s trigger—his baby sister’s dying, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

            “Clint! I found something!”

            “Really?” He comes running. “What is it?”

            “I figured out what caused Dmitri to snap. I don’t know if it’ll help us locate him, but it’s new information.”

            “Let’s go find Nick. This could be big.”

            We hurriedly gather up the piles of papers around me and race over to Nick’s room. Clint knocks anxiously until Maria opens the door, greeting us with an annoyed scowl.

            “What?” she growls.

            “We have something,” I say, pushing past her. “Nick? I found something that may be helpful.” I stroll thought the room, looking for my boss. “Nick? Where is he?”

            “Beats me,” Maria shrugs. “He went to get ice a while ago.”

            “How long ago?” A heavy weight settles in the pit of my stomach. Something must be wrong.

            “A while ago. It’s impossible to be sure.”

            “Maria, something must have happened! Does he still have his tracker on him?”

            “I can check.” She heads over to her laptop.

            “Check to see if Bucky’s has been reactivated while you’re at it,” Clint suggests from the doorway.

            “That’s a negative on Bucky, but it appears Nick is still in the hotel.”

            “Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go!” I march out the door, Maria and Clint in tow.


	12. Chapter 12

            We follow the GPS to the coordinates where Nick should be. In conference room 325A, we find his eye patch and tracker lying in the middle of the table. Under them is a hastily scribbled note:

                      N, M, & C,

                      We’re not safe here. It’s time to move. Deactivate your trackers. I’ll explain more later.

                      ~F

            “What? _De_ activate our trackers? But they’re the reason I’m alive right now and not rotting in that fucking warehouse!” I seethe with anger and frustration.

            “Whoa, Nat, calm down. Nick’s gotta have a good reason for this. I just wish he wasn’t so damn cryptic.”

            “I suggest you do as you’ve been ordered, Agent.” Maria almost mechanically removes the tracker from her bracelet and switches it off. Clint and I follow suit, though I’m not happy about it.

            “So where the fuck is Nick?” I flip over the note, hoping for another message.

            “Turn around.” I spin on my heel to find Nick lurking in the shadows.

            “Nick, what’s this all about?”

            “We’re not safe here. I should have done this last night, but I wasn’t exactly in my right mind. Igor, Leonid, whatever the fuck you want to call him, knew where we were staying. He undoubtedly told Dmitri so he could keep an eye on us. Pack your things as quickly as you can. I booked us rooms at another hotel farther south. Any new discoveries can be discussed in the limo. Hurry—we’re leaving in 20 minutes.”

            “Yes, sir.” Maria and Clint leave, but I hang back to talk to Nick.

            “Have you noticed anything off about Maria?”

            “She’s upset, so she’s been very cross with me. Same thing with you guys?”

            “Yeah. Did something happen last night?”

            “That’s the problem—even though the two of us made it out okay, Bucky and Dmitri are still missing, and absolutely nothing has happened to give us any indication of Dmitri’s plan. Maria was up all night with me, but I refused to answer most of her questions. She’s mad I won’t tell her the whole story.”

            “She better not pester me about it; I already went through it all with Clint.”

            “You told him about the nightmares?”

            “Are you kidding? No one needs to know the things I experienced,” I shudder.

            “Have you tried to sleep again?”  
            “Have _you?_ ”

            “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ We’re going to have to eventually.”

            “Yeah, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I need to know what we were gassed with, first.”

            “Hopefully we’ll find Dmitri soon. You better go pack—we need to leave in about 15 minutes.”

            “Shit. Okay, we’ll talk more later.” I sprint back to my room and throw everything back into my bags. Exactly 15 minutes later, the four of us are back in the limo and pulling out of the parking lot.

            “So, Nick, where are we headed?”

            “Astrakhan’. I know we were going to wait for the call, but we needed to move, so I picked a city. Did you find anything?”

            “It may not be helpful, but I know why Dmitri started killing people. His younger sister is dying from inoperable brain cancer.”

            “Where is she now?”

            “I didn’t get that far. But get this—she’s from Saint Petersburg.”

            “You may be onto something. Look into it more as soon as we get to the new hotel.”

            “Sure.”

            “Anyone else find any new information? Any leads on where to find Bucky?”

            “No, sir. His tracker has remained inactive. We can only assume he’s with Dmitri.” Maria leans forward, doing her best to insert herself into the conversation.

            “Let me rephrase: anything we didn’t already know?” Nick scowls.

            “Geez, Nick, take it easy on her,” Clint interjects. “It’s been a long night where nothing really happened. It’s not her fault Dmitri hasn’t slipped up again.”

            “I apologize for my rudeness. I’m still not entirely myself.” Nick glances down at his watch. “We should be nearing the hotel soon, so we can continue our discussion after we get settled.”

            “Sounds good to me!” Clint grins. Maria and I nod tersely; she seems to get lost in thought as she stares out the window. Nick pulls out his phone and falls silent. Since it would be incredibly awkward if I tried to start a conversation, I allow my mind to wander as well. Carefully, of course. It’s best to avoid the dark paths it could go down. I think back to how I met those most important to me.

            A long time ago, I was on the run. Clint was supposed to dispose of me, but something changed his mind. He took me in instead, defying direct orders from S.H.I.E.L.D. We have a complicated history of mistakes and manipulation, but we managed to stay close through it all. We refuse to let our pasts (and all that red in our ledgers) define us.

            I met Steve working for S.H.I.E.L.D. It was an uneasy friendship at first, neither of us fully trusting the other, but with time, we’ve actually become really good friends. Sure, we disagree on a lot of things, but we’ve been able to get past our differences.

            Bucky, of course, I met while working with Steve to avenge Nick’s death. Well, he didn’t actually _die_ , but we didn’t know that at the time. After Bucky calmed down and got away from Hydra, we discovered we had a lot in common. We were both assassins who worked for Russia, we feel the need to be basically the “cool older sibling” for Steve, love bad movies, and have been brainwashed more times than we can count. After a few months, we started yelling meaningless Russian phrases at each other, simply because no one else understands us. Well, except for Erin. Then again, she’s forgotten most of what she’s learned, so she only understands a few words here and there. Mainly swear words.

            Speaking (thinking?) of, I still remember the day Bucky brought Erin to Stark Tower so she could meet us. They had been dating for a few weeks, and I could tell something was different just by the way he talked about her. Bucky’s generally a private person, but once you got him talking, he practically gushed about her. I could tell she was nervous (she was probably afraid we wouldn’t like her or that we’d end up killing her—both very real possibilities), but she quickly relaxed once we hit it off. We talked for more than an hour about our interests and passions, finding a lot of common ground. I think everyone was surprised I was being so friendly and open, but when you find someone similar to yourself, you tend to be more comfortable with them.

            And then there was Jenna. Oh, Jenna. She was way more intrigued by Steve than she was with meeting us. She barely took her eyes off him all evening, as if she didn’t quite believe she was dating Captain America. Steve, being the sincere guy that he is, did his best to get her talking with us, but he eventually had to give up. A few weeks later, we tried again, and that’s when Jenna really started to bond with us. Tony immediately handed her a drink and pushed her in my direction. Actually, it’s more accurate to say in Clint’s general direction. Let’s face it: he’s probably one of the nicest people in our little group. However, Tony was already kind of drunk, and ended up shoving Jenna directly into me. Everyone froze, waiting with bated breath for my reaction. To their surprise, I laughed. Only half kidding, I told Jenna to limit the amount of physical contact between us if she knew what was good for her (or if she wanted to survive). Oddly enough, this made her _more_ comfortable with me. We’ve been good friends ever since that night.

            Erin and Jenna made great additions to our family. It was really refreshing to have friends that didn’t know all about my past. They saw me for who I am, not who I was. Sure, it’s nice to have people who have been through it all with me, but it’s also nice to have people who I don’t have a complicated history with. Things are so much simpler with them. I’m so proud to call them two of my best friends.

            “We’re here,” Nick barks. Guess I’m done reminiscing…

            “Where, exactly, is _here?_ ” Clint asks skeptically. I peer out the window and find we’re in the middle of the woods. The “hotel” we were promised is actually a cabin. Shack may be a more accurate term.

            “Nick, what the hell?” I grimace.

            “We need someplace where we can’t easily be found. We’re a few miles outside Astrakhan’,” he shrugs. “I figured you’d be reluctant to change locations if you knew where we were actually headed.”

            “Does it have running water and Wi-Fi?”

            “I guess we’ll find out.”

            We file out of the car and up to the front of our new temporary home. It takes a few shoves to get the door to move, its hinges creaking loudly as we push it open. A cloud of dust billows outward; we shield our eyes and hold our breath as it passes.

            “When was the last time this place was used?” I cough.

            “It’s been a while.” Nick bravely ventures into the building. We warily follow, taking in the slant of the floor and doorways. Nick leads us down a hallway into a back bedroom. “Natasha, Clint, this will be your room. Don’t worry, there’s bedding in the trunk of the limo. I had our driver make a run to the store for some essentials. Maria,” he turns to go back out the door, “your room is across the hall here, and I’ll be on the couch. Any questions?”

            “Running water? Wi-Fi? Electricity?” I remind him.

            “Ah, yes, yes, and yes. I know it doesn’t look like much, but S.H.I.E.L.D. has taken care of those. Like I said before: it’s not likely we’ll be found here. It’s supposed to look run-down. Anything else? No? Okay, back to work.”

            Hauling in the contents of the trunk takes a while, but we eventually manage to settle in a bit. Maria and Clint have been tasked with locating Bucky, and I continue to look into Katerina Averyanova. It appears she’s had consultations at several different hospitals across the country, and it currently undergoing treatment in… No way.

            “Nick! We need to head back north!”

            “What? Why?”

            “Dmitri’s movements haven’t been as ritualistic as we thought. Sure, he kills one family per week, but I don’t think he moved on to another city. So get this: Katerina has had consultations in St. Petersburg, Moscow, and Volgograd. Her treatments at the first two lasted only three weeks before she changed hospitals. _Dmitri has been traveling with his sister_. According to her Caring Bridge site, she’s still in Volgograd. She’s decided that’s where she’s going to live out her final days. And if I’m right, Dmitri and Bucky are still there, too.”

            Nick stares at me silently, weighing my theory against his own instincts. It seems like an eternity before he abruptly stands and announces that we’re leaving. “I don’t think we should go all the way back to Volgograd just yet—we need proof that your theory is correct first—but I do believe it would be wise to go somewhere in between, just in case you’re wrong.”

            “That’s fair. Can we stay in an actual hotel, though?”

            “Fine,” he sighs. “I doubt S.H.I.E.L.D. has any safe houses in between, anyway.” Clint fist pumps in the background.

            “Excellent. I guess it’s time to pack everything up again.”


	13. Chapter 13

            There aren’t any major cities between Astrakhan’ and Volgograd, so we end up staying in a small town that I’m not even sure of the name of. It only has one hotel, and it’s fairly run-down. It’s probably safe to say they don’t get many tourists here. The desk clerk seems startled by our presence and shakily hands us room keys. He pointedly avoids eye contact with me in particular. Strange.

            “Natasha, stop glaring at the poor kid,” Clint mutters under his breath. “And put your gun away.” My gun? I look down to find I’ve instinctively grabbed my weapon and turned the safety off. Whoops. I carefully holster it, moving my jacket to hide the fact that I’m armed.

            “Sorry,” I smile sheepishly. “It’s been a long week.”

            “Have a nice day!” Clint calls over his shoulder as we go to find our rooms. “Please don’t call the cops on us…” he adds quietly as he turns back around. As soon as we’re alone in our room, Clint starts to panic. “Nat, why the hell did you pull out your gun?”

            “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t even remember doing it.”

            “You… don’t _remember_ unholstering your gun?”

            “I wasn’t aware I was holding it until you said something.”

            “Seriously? Maybe I should hold on to your weapons for a while, just to be safe.”

            “What do you think I’m going to do, accidentally go on a killing spree?” I snort.

            “Natasha,” he pleads, “you’re obviously still experiencing side effects, and I don’t want you doing anything you’ll regret. Plus, you’ve been awake for at least 36 hours straight now. That can’t be good for you. I know,” he holds up his hands in defense, “you don’t want to sleep because of the nightmares. I understand. All I’m saying is you’re not well and I think disarming you would be a good idea.”

            “Yeah, okay, fine. Just for a little while though, right?”

            “Right. Thank you for seeing things my way.”

            “When you’re right, you’re right. I’m not really in the best state of mind to be making judgment calls right now.”

            “We’ll fix this, Nat. We always do.”

            “I don’t think cognitive recalibration will do the trick this time,” I smile weakly.

            “Probably not,” Clint chuckles softly. “We _will_ figure this out, though. I promise.”

            We sit around for a few hours in this crappy hotel, scouring the internet for anything that could help us find Dmitri and Bucky. Eventually, the wheels in my head grind to a halt due to the now overwhelming exhaustion. It’s been at least 40 hours since I last slept, and almost a week since I had a normal night’s rest. I slide my laptop back a bit and rest my head on my desk.

            “Nat? Are you okay? You don’t look so good…”

            “What are you talking about? I’m gorgeous,” I joke half-heartedly. “I’ll be okay. I just need to take a break.”

            “I know you don’t want to, but maybe you should try sleeping. I’ll be right here with you in case you have another nightmare.”

            “Promise?”

            “I promise. Here, let’s get you in bed.”

            I crawl under the covers, wary of the outcome of this, but in desperate need of rest. Clint abandons his own work to lie next to me. Turning towards him, I nestle into his arms. Ever so slowly, I drift off to sleep.

            At first there is nothing but darkness. Suddenly, my ears are assaulted by a cacophony of noise; it sounds like a mix of crying and anguished screams. Layer by layer, they’re stripped away until it is just the sound of one person’s sadness. A spotlight shines upon a younger version of myself. Upset and seemingly alone, she stares down at the rock beneath her feet. I move towards her, and upon closer inspection, I realize she’s standing on my parents’ grave. The spotlight’s beam widens to reveal another grave to my right: Alexi’s. Pretty soon, I’m surrounded by hundreds of graves, each bearing the name of someone I’ve lost, killed, or am terrified to lose. I back into a large tombstone. Afraid to look, I let my fingers trace the name. After a few moments, I realize it’s mine. Turning around, I read my epitaph.

_Natalia Alianovna Barton Romanova_

_Loving wife, mother, and friend._

_“The course of true love never did run smooth” –William Shakespeare_

Tears fill my eyes as I contemplate my own mortality. Voices begin to surround me again, calling out for help, asking why I didn’t save them. One voice is much louder than the rest.

            “I trusted you! You promised you would save me! Now look what’s happened. You let me down, and I died. I fucking _died_ at the hands of the man you swore to protect me from!” Georgy shoves me to the ground, taking an offensive stance over me.

            “I know,” I cry out. “I failed! There was nothing I could do! I’m so sorry; I never should have promised your safety.”

            “No you shouldn’t have. Don’t make promises you can’t keep!” Georgy begins hitting me, driving me closer to my headstone. The marble is cold against my back as I shrink away from his flailing fists. Hands grab at my arms and legs, holding me down. They belong to my family and friends: Clint, Steve, Jenna, Bucky, Erin, Nick, Maria, Tony, Bruce, Thor, Sam…

            “Natasha!” Clint shakes me awake. “You were screaming! What happened?”

            “I was…” I swallow hard and pause, waiting for my heart to stop trying to beat out of my chest. “I was in a cemetery. There was a younger version of me there, crying by my parents’ headstone. There were… there were _so many_ graves of people I knew. Hell, my own grave was there! And then Georgy came out of nowhere and started yelling and hitting me and there was nothing I could do to stop him and then you were there along with everyone else holding me to the ground and—”

            “Whoa, whoa. Slow down, take a deep breath. It’s okay. It was only a dream.”

            “I know. I know… It felt so _real_ , though."

            “Have all your dreams been like this?” he asks worriedly.

            “Worse. _Much_ worse.”

            “Yikes. At least they’re getting better. That may mean the gas is starting to leave your system.”

            “Dear God, I hope so. How long was I out?”

            “About six hours.”

            “Six _hours_? Why didn’t you wake me sooner? We have work to do!” I sit up and start to get out of bed.

            “If something had happened, I promise I would have woken you. But we still have absolutely nothing and you really need the rest.”

            “This case is so frustrating!” I plop down on the bed again. “Where the hell is Bucky?”

            “I wish I knew. Oh, while you were out, Nick found a doctor he could bribe to run tests on him and keep everything completely confidential. We’re currently waiting on the results.”

            “Has he heard anything yet?”

            “Nada. Hopefully we’ll find out soon what sort of toxin was used on you guys.”

            There’s a quick, persistent knock on the door. Clint jumps up to answer it before I can move. It’s Maria; she’s out of breath, as if she just sprinted here. From the look of urgency on her face, I’m guessing she probably did.

            “Bucky’s tracker… has been activated… we have a location,” she pants. “We need to move quickly… before we lose the signal.” We hastily grab our shoes and weapons on our way out the door. Nick’s waiting for us in the limo, looking ragged from stress and lack of sleep. As soon as we’re seated, we’re off to find Bucky.

            “Where is he? Where are we going?” I ask frantically as I smooth down my hair and clothes. Man, I wish I had had time to make myself presentable again. Never mind. Back to the vital issue at hand.

            “You were right—he’s still in Volgograd,” Nick says. “We’re not exactly sure what sort of place they’re in, but we’ll find out soon enough. To be safe, I grabbed some disguises.” He begins handing out wigs, glasses, clothing, etc. “You’ll need something a bit better than whatever the hell you were wearing in that mall with Steve.”

            “You know what? That was the best I could do under the circumstances,” I retort.

            “Whatever. Make yourself unrecognizable. We can’t afford to let Dmitri get the drop on us again. He’s got one of our own and is responsible for the deaths of at least 40 people. Let’s try not to fuck this up.”

            Great pep talk. I tuck my hair up into a black wig, cut short at my chin. Cat eye sunglasses complement the sharp edge of my bob perfectly. An oversized military jacket hides my various guns quite nicely. Clint simply dons a beanie and fake glasses.

            “He doesn’t know what I look like,” Clint says in response to our disapproving looks. Fair point.

            Maria slips into a mousy brown wig that goes down to her shoulders, dark sunglasses, and a tan leather jacket. Nick has on a pair of shades to hide his eye and has traded out his duster for a black hoodie. From a small make-up kit, he grabs fake scars and blemishes, which he carefully applies to his skin. Pretty soon, he’s quite difficult to recognize.

            “Hill, how close are we to our destination?” Nick inquires.

            “5 miles away, sir. It appears they’re in the middle of the city.”

            “Where the hell are they?”

            In a few minutes, we discover the answer to that. Our driver stops in front of an outdoor market, which is absolutely teeming with civilians.

            “How in the hell are we supposed to find them here?” Clint scans the crowd. “There has to be several hundred people roaming around!”

            “We’ll figure something out. Nick,” I turn to face him, “we probably shouldn’t be seen together, just to be safe. Clint and I will scope out the area, and you and Maria can follow the tracer. We’ll watch out for Dmitri to make sure he doesn’t try anything. Be careful—there are a lot of innocent people here.”

            “Romanoff, since when are you giving the orders?” Nick (I assume) squints at me.

            “Since I actually got sleep today and you didn’t. Let’s move out.” Clint and I exit the limo and wander into the bazaar. Every few feet I have to apologize for bumping into someone or stepping on their foot. I really hope we can pull this off without too many casualties. Nick and Maria take a different path, following the signal on her phone. I keep them in my eye line as I peer through the crowd.

            Maria stops abruptly, grabbing Nick’s arm to get his attention. She gestures slightly towards a tent a few feet away. They glance back and forth between the phone and the tent, making sure they’re in the right place. The main opening of the tent is on the opposite side, so I drag Cling through the swarming mass of people to a better vantage point. I stop dead in my tracks as soon as I see the teller standing in the mouth of the tent. _No. Fucking. Way._ Clint crashes into me, as he’s not paying much attention to anything but our destination.

            “Nat? Why’d you stop?”

            “It can’t be. I thought…”

            “What is it?”

            “The teller. But, it can’t be…”

            “Who is it?” he hissed urgently.

            I let out a small breath of air, the name coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Alyona.”


	14. Chapter 14

            “Alyona? As in Alyona _Krushnic_? Dmitri’s mom? But you said they killed her.”

            “That’s what they told me. Oh God. I can’t let her see me!”

            “Babe, you’re wearing a disguise—you’ll be fine.”

            “Right, right,” I mutter, my hands trembling slightly at my sides. “She never met Nick, so we should be fine.” I shakily take a deep breath, my initial panic slowly leaving me.

            “Relax.” Clint places his hands on my shoulders. “Everything will be fine. We’ll get Bucky out of here, then figure out what the hell is going on with Dmitri and Alyona.”

            “We can’t fuck this up. We _really_ can’t fuck this up.”

            “I know. Hey, if this is set up anything like a carnival tent, there should be another opening we can sneak in through.” We circle the tent from a safe distance, searching for any small fold in the material. “Look!” Clint grabs my wrist. “Right there! It’s well hidden, but I’m almost positive that’s our way in.”

            “Nick?” I say into my earpiece. “Be careful. That woman running the booth is Dmitri’s mother. Clint found an alternate way in around back. As much as it pains me to say this, I think we should send him and Maria in through there. You and I can keep watch.”

            “Back up a bit. Dmitri’s mother? Isn’t she dead?”

            “Apparently not. Goes to show you can’t trust the word of a psychopath.”

            “Guess so. Okay, we’ll come find you. Try to blend in for right now.”

            “Roger that.”

            Maria slips back into the sea of people, eyes trained on us. I scan the crowd again, concerned Dmitri will make an appearance and fuck everything up. It takes her a while to get to us, but as soon as she does, she’s gone again—back to the tent, Clint in tow. Nick keeps his distance, his one good eye searching for possible threats.

            Someone grabs my elbow and I freeze, every muscle in my body tensed and ready to fight.

            “Excuse me, miss, but you seem to be lost. Is there something I can help you find?” a young man asks. He looks to be about 15 or so.

            “I’m just looking for my husband; we got separated somewhere along the way,” I smile nervously.

            “I see. Well, good luck! This place is practically a maze. Would you like some help looking?”

            “No, I should be fine… Ah! There he is!” I wave out to the crowd before I start moving away from the young man.

            “Okay then. Have a pleasant day!” As he scurries away, I notice the .45 tucked into the waistband of his pants. So he was planning on robbing me. Nice. Wait, where did Clint and Maria go? Surely they couldn’t have made it to the tent already.

            “Nick? Do you have eyes—er, eye—on them?”

            “They’re about 20 feet from the target. It appears we are good to go on this extraction plan.”

            “Excellent. I’ll keep an eye on Alyona as I watch out for Dmitri. Let’s bring Bucky home.”

            “They’ve reached the tent and are trying to find the opening.” There’s an agonizingly long pause. “They’re in. All we can do now is watch and wait.”

            “Nick? The woman Alyona’s been helping looks about ready to walk away, and there’s no one in line behind her. If Alyona goes back into her tent, we’re screwed. Quick, go pretend you’re interested in buying whatever it is she’s selling. I’ll stand watch.”

            “On my way. Be careful, Natasha.”

            “You too.” No longer worried about watching Alyona, I spin around, hoping to catch sight of Dmitri, if he’s here. So far, no sign of him. The minutes pass slowly, uneventfully. No word from anyone; the radio silence is deafening. “Clint? What’s happening?”

            “We’ve *grunt* found Bucky, but he’s unconscious and much heavier than he looks. We’re almost to the exit. Any way you can come and help?”  
            “I’ll be there as soon as I can. How the hell are we supposed to sneak him out of here if he’s unconscious?”

            “We’ll have to figure something out. Please hurry.”

            “Nick, hang in there. We’re in the homestretch.” I push my way through to the tent, turning back every few feet to ensure I’m not being followed. I slip through the slit and find myself in a cramped back room. “Clint? Where are you?” I hiss.

            “Nat! Over here!”

            I squint, trying to see in the dark tent. I wander in the direction his voice came from until I literally run into them. Clint’s got his arms tucked under Bucky’s, attempting to hold up his torso. Maria gives me one of his legs. Putting as much strength into it as possible, we lift Bucky off the ground. Slowly, we make our way back out into the crowd.

            “Let’s get him to the limo as quickly as possible!” Clint grunts as he lifts Bucky as bit higher off the ground. The people passing by give us confused, nervous looks. It seems no one wants to get involved; they keep walking past, occasionally glancing back at us.

            We lug Bucky through the crowd, which parts, giving us a wide berth. After a few yards, we pause. I can’t even see the limo yet. This may take longer than anticipated.

            “Hold on.” I drop Bucky’s leg and bring my hand to my head, activating my earpiece. “Nick? We need help.”

            “Okay. Thank you very much, madam, but I’m still unsure of what you’re selling. Have a nice day,” Nick’s voice crackles in. “Sorry, on my way. What’s the issue?”

            “He’s heavy, and the car is way too far away. There’s still a chance we’ll get caught.”

            “Roger that. I’ll have the driver bring it closer so we don’t have to carry him as far. Is there someplace you can set him down and hide him until I get there?”

            “I’ll see what I can do.” The closest vendor is selling fruit and appears to have some space behind him in his tent. “I’ll be right back,” I say over my shoulder as I make my way over to him. “Excuse me, sir? My friend there is ill—he had too much to drink and is no longer awake. Can he sit in your tent until our car arrives? I’m afraid he’s too heavy to carry far, and he may get trampled out here.”

            “How long?” he asks warily, glancing uncertainly at Bucky’s visible metal arm.

            “Only a few minutes, kind sir.” I flash him my most reassuring smile.

            “Fine, fine. But only for a few minutes. I don’t want any trouble.”

            “We’ll be no trouble at all, sir.” I jog back to help drag Bucky into the tent.

            “Natasha? Update. Now,” Nick huffs in my ear. I step out of earshot of the vendor and turn away before answering.

            “Fruit tent. Where’s our vehicle?”

            “En route. The closest he can get is still about a quarter mile away.”

            “If that’s the best he can do, we’ll have to just deal with it. Please hurry—this vendor’s not terribly comfortable with us crashing in his tent, and Alyona could discover Bucky’s missing at any moment.”

            “Yeah, yeah. I’m on my way.”

            “Lost again?” a vaguely familiar voice comes from behind me. The muzzle of a gun presses against my lower back. “Turn around slowly, and don’t do anything stupid. Follow my directions and everything will be fine.” I turn to face the punk who was going to rob me earlier. “Now, tell your friend that you had to change tents.”

            “Nick? We’re on the move. Do not go to the fruit tent. I’ll let you know when we find somewhere new to stop.” My voice is steady as I do what I’m told.

            “Nat? What are you talking about? Is everything okay?” Clint whispers over our radio.

            “Nick, we are _not_ on the move. Something is happening,” Maria interjects. “Natasha, is there someone threatening you?”

            “Affirmative. We have left the general area of the fruit tent and I’m unsure of our destination yet.”

            “Nat—is it Dmitri?” Clint asks worriedly.

            “Negative. We have not found a suitable stopping point. This is just a minor setback.”

            “That’s enough,” the kid barks. “How do I know you’re not feeding whoever you’re talking to information? Tell them you’ll get back to them.”

            “I’ll keep you updated. Signing off for now.”

            “Nat? Nat! Where are you? You know what, I’m coming. Maria, stay with Bucky—I’m gonna go find Nat.”

            “So. What can I help you with?” I glare at my assailant.

            “Empty your pockets.”

            “I don’t think you want me to do that.”

            “Yes I do! Empty your pockets!” His hands shake as he tries to steady his gun.

            “Easy, there. If you raise your voice people may notice what’s going on here.”

            “Just empty your pockets! Slowly!”

            I raise my hands, reaching for the gun hidden in a secret pocket in my jacket. As my fingers curl around the grip, I notice Clint racing over to us. Changing my mind, I pull out a wallet, instead.

            “Come on! Give me everything you’ve got!”

            “Sure thing, pal.” Clint presses a glock to the nape of the thief’s neck. “Now, drop the gun and let my wife go.” The kid instantly loosens his grip on his weapon. “Good. Listen closely: if I _ever_ see you again, I will not hesitate to kill you. Run.” He sprints away, never pausing to look back.

            “Thanks,” I grin.

            “No problem. You totally could have taken him down. Why didn’t you?”

            “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself—you never know who might be watching. If I caused a scene, there’s the chance Alyona would recognize me and then we’d be screwed.”

            “Makes sense. Well, the car is close by, so shall we?”

            “Definitely. Let’s get out of here.”

            When we arrive back at the tent, we find Nick evaluating the best way to carry Bucky out of the bazaar. “Romanoff! Is everything okay?” he asks without looking up.

            “Fine. Some kid just tried to rob me. Clint took care of him.”

            “Good. Let’s move out.”

            We lift Bucky once again, thanking the vendor, who keeps his distance, as we leave the tent. It’s still difficult to move quickly, but it’s much easier now that Nick is helping, too. We’re about 10 yards from the limo when we hear a shriek.

            “He’s gone! My son has been kidnapped!” a woman cries. Shit.

            “Pretty sure that’s Alyona discovering we’ve taken Bucky. Time to really move.” I start taking longer strides. “We’re almost there! Come on!” The people in the marketplace turn to look at us, whispers rippling through the crowd.

            “Where do you think you’re going with that poor woman’s son?” a man steps directly in our path.

            “He’s not her son, I promise. He’s the husband of one of my good friends and has been held against his will by that woman and her actual son for more than a week. Please, let us get him out of here!”

            “Why should we believe you?” another man in the crowd shouts.

            “Because I was held against my will by them, too. I was rescued, but Bucky here was nowhere to be found. The only reason we were able to locate him is a tracker we imbedded in his arm. Maria—grab your phone. Show them.” Maria struggles to pull out her phone, dropping Bucky’s foot in the process. The man looks at the coordinates on the tracking app skeptically.

            “Please, we need to hurry,” Clint urges him. “Will you please help us get away from this crazy woman and her psychopathic son?”

            The man reluctantly agrees, as do a few others who help us finally put Bucky in the back of the limo. We climb in after him and speed off, back towards out hotel. Bucky’s face is ashen and contorted into a grimace. He mutters in Russian under his breath—something along the lines of “no, you can’t make me do it!” alternating with “no one can escape the Winter Soldier.” Sounds like he’s been having awful nightmares, too. Unfortunately, I know what he’s experiencing all too well; hopefully I can help him when he wakes up by talking through it all. We remove our disguises as we near our hotel.

            “How, exactly, are we going to get him inside?” Maria asks.

            “Good question… luggage cart?” Clint suggests.

            “Brilliant. I would go grab one, but the clerk doesn’t particularly like me…” I trail off.

            “I’ll go get one, you guys prep Bucky to be loaded onto it.” Nick reaches for the door handle as soon as we stop. It’s a struggle to move Bucky, but we eventually manage to get him into the hotel. We place him on the extra bed in my room.

            “What now?” Maria asks as we stand around, glancing uncertainly at Bucky’s slumbering form.

            “All we can really do is wait,” I shrug.

            “Should we try to wake him?”

            “No,” Nick replies sternly. “We don’t know what he’s been drugged with or his current mental state. I hate to say it, but it might be best if we attempt to secure him in some way, just in case he’s unstable.”

            “Is that really necessary?” Maria steps forward. “I don’t think—”

            “Trust me,” I cut her off, “it’s necessary. You don’t understand the things this drug does to someone whose mind has been wiped repeatedly. He may not be aware of who he is when he wakes up.”

            “Fair enough.” Maria steps back, her hands held defensively in front of her. After gathering various supplies, we proceed to essentially chain Bucky to the headboard so he won’t be able to move very much.

            Since we can’t really leave him alone, we each take shifts watching over Bucky. The ones not on watch discuss ways to locate Dmitri. About 4 hours after we got back to the hotel, Nick, Clint, and I hear Maria scream.


	15. Chapter 15

            Scrambling to our feet, we race down the hall. I jam my keycard in the lock, but nothing happens. Frustrated and greatly concerned, I shove it in the slot repeatedly, yanking on the door handle and shoving my weight into the frame. Behind the closed door, Maria’s screams dissolve into strangled cries for help. Finally, the door flies open.

            Maria is still in the desk chair where she had been reading. Bucky is standing over her, metal hand clenched around her throat.

            “Bucky no!” I yell, rushing to save Maria. Recognition flickers in his eyes. “Bucky! Stop! You’re going to kill her!”

            “That’s what I’ve been trained to do,” he growls, turning back to face his target.

            “James Buchanan Barnes, you listen to me you little shit. You are not the asset anymore. You DO NOT want to kill Maria. LET GO OF HER.”

            “Nat?” He slowly loosens his grip as his mind is dragged back to the present. Clint fumes silently in the doorway, upset Bucky used his nickname for me.

            “That’s right—it’s Natasha. Let’s sit down and I can talk you through everything that’s happened.”

            “Where are we?” he asks as he slowly sinks down onto the bed. The chains we had used to secure him lie in pieces on the ground.

            “A small town in Russia. We were taken by the serial killer we’ve been hunting. Maria and Clint managed to rescue Nick and me, but you had already been moved when they arrived; we’ve been searching for you for days. I assume you’ve been unconscious most of the time. What do you remember?”

            “Trying to kill you and wandering through a maze. After that, my next memory is waking up here and attacking Maria. Sorry about that.”

            “You better be fucking sorry…” Maria mutters as she rubs her throat.

            “Other than that, I really don’t remember anything. How long did you say you were looking for me?”

            “Well, we were rescued on Wednesday, and it’s now,” I glance at my watch, “Saturday morning, so about 3 days.”

            “I WAS UNCONSCIOUS FOR THREE DAYS?” he bellows.

            “Technically, if the last thing you remember is running through the maze, you’ve been out since Monday.” I drop my voice to just above a whisper.

            “Dear God. This motherfucker is SO dead.”

            “Agreed. We’re working on finding him. For now, you need to rest. We still don’t know what we were drugged with; whatever it was, it had to be strong to work on you. After being constantly drugged for 5 days, I’m sure your side effects will probably be worse than ours, so please, just take it easy.”

            “Okay, okay. I’ll stay here,” he reluctantly agrees. “Just let me know as soon as you learn _anything_.”

            “Will do.”

            Clint, Maria, and Nick go back to tracking Dmitri; I stay behind to take a short break and, to be honest, keep an eye on Bucky. He definitely wasn’t entirely himself when he woke up, and that scares me. Having been brainwashed more times than even I have, he can be kind of unpredictable after any sort of head injury.

            “Tasha?”

            “Yeah, Bucky?”

            “Have you… nevermind.”

            “What? You know you can ask me anything.”

            “Have you been having…?”

            “Nightmares?”

            “…yeah.”

            “Every time I close my eyes.”

            “So it’s not just me. Good.” He takes a deep breath and finally looks up at me. “I’ve done some terrible things.”

            I cross the room to sit on the edge of the bed and place a hand on his shoulder. “I know. So have I. But that’s in the past—we can’t let it define us. Whoever thought two Russian assassins would become superheroes, huh?”

            “I guess you’re right.” The corner of his mouth turns up slightly. “You haven’t talked to Erin lately, have you?”

            “We, uh…” I look down. “We didn’t really want to tell her about the abduction until we got you back safely…”

            “I see. Well, seeing how she hasn’t heard from me in a week, she’s probably freaking out. Mind if I call her?”

            “Go ahead. We’re, what, 7 hours ahead here?”

            “Something like that. She should still be up.”

            I head across the hall to rejoin the others; they’re loudly arguing when I walk in.

            “I think we should go to the hospital and ask the sister questions!” Clint yells.

            “No! We should wait and see if Dmitri does anything we can track!” Maria retorts.

            “Both of you, shut up! I can’t hear myself think!” Nick groans.

            “Guys? We have another option,” I announce. All eyes fall on me. “Remember the woman that kept trying to contact Dmitri? I have a feeling she may know him well enough to be helpful.”

            “If we want someone close to him, we should talk to the sister,” Clint counters.

            “If you were in the hospital dying, would you really want some random strangers coming to interrogate you about your brother because he’s a serial killer?”

            “Been there, done that,” Clint laughs.

            “Not really the same situation there, honey,” I sigh. “But think about it: who knows the most about you?”

            “You do,” he responds quickly and confidently.

            “And are you more likely to tell intimate secrets to your significant other or sibling?”

            “Significant other. But how do you know that’s who this woman is to Dmitri?”

            “Technically, I don’t. But I did some digging: on social media sites, they frequently posted pictures together and signed messages very affectionately. It’s worth a shot.”

            “Okay. Why not?”

            “Maria? Nick? Thoughts?”

            “I guess if you’re both so gung ho to go talk to people, whatever. Sure,” she rolls her eyes.

            “As long as we’re done arguing, it sounds fine to me,” Nick huffs.

            “Cool. Nat, where are we headed?” Clint grins at me.

            “Just around the corner,” I smile back.

            “What do you mean by that?” Maria raises an eyebrow.

            “We don’t even have to leave this town—Viktoria lives only a few miles away.”

            “Actually?” Clint gapes.

            “Actually. Let’s go!”

            “Wait. What about Bucky?” Clint hesitates.

            “I’ll stay with him,” Nick offers. “God knows I could use a rest.”

            “Are you sure?” I ask.

            “Go on. Hurry before I change my mind.”

            So Clint, Maria, and I run to the car, eager to talk to Viktoria. We discover she lives in a cute, pale yellow house with white trim. A small garden is in full bloom out front. Maria skips up the steps on her way to knock on the front door. We wait in anxious silence. The door opens a crack.

            “Da?” a soft voice calls out.

            “Hello! My name is Nancy. I’m looking for someone by the name of Viktoria Muratova.”

            “That is me. What do you want?”

            “My friends and I have a few questions for you about a mutual friend.”

            The door opens a bit further, revealing a pretty woman in her mid to late thirties. She brushes her choppy brown hair out of her eyes. “Who do you want to know about?”

            “A man named Dmitri Krushnic. We understand that you two have been close.’

            “We’ve dated for a while, but have fallen out of touch since Katerina was diagnosed.”

            “May we come in?”

            “Please.” Viktoria steps back, ushering us into a surprisingly spacious living room. We carefully sit on the large leather sofa. “So, what do you want to know?”

            “How well do you know Dmitri?” Clint asks.

            “We met in college. He dreamt of becoming a famous actor. I played the cello and performed with members of my orchestra for a play he was in. We had what you might consider a whirlwind romance. It all fell apart a few months later, but we remained friends. After college, we drifted apart, each of us focused on our own jobs. Then, out of the blue, he called and asked me out again. Three and a half years later, here we are. We’re still together, but things are a bit tough for him with Katerina’s illness.”

            “Does Dmitri have a temper?” I ask innocently.

            “Every now and then, yes. Why?” She looks at me quizzically.

            “Because he’s on a violent rampage and we need to stop him,” Maria blurts out, just as I open my mouth to speak. Viktoria is visibly taken aback by Maria’s claim.

            “Violent? He would never. You… you must be mistaken,” she stammers.

            “I’m afraid we’re quite certain,” I say softly, yet confidently.

            “How can you be so sure?”

            “I’ve experienced some of the terrible things he’s done firsthand. I watched him murder a teenage boy last week. Please, you need to help us catch him. I know it’s hard to turn on those you love, but he’s dangerous,” I plead.

            “I… I can’t believe he would be able to… _kill_ someone. But if you are positive it’s him, I’m obligated to help. If he’s not at the hospital, he’s most likely at his cabin. I can take you there, if you’d like.”

            “That would be great, thanks,” I smile graciously.

            “So… who are you really?”

            “You can call me Natasha. This is my husband, Clint, and our friend Maria.”

            “Well, it’s nice to officially meet you. Let me go grab my keys, and then we’ll be on our way.” Viktoria turns towards what looks like a kitchen.

            “Nat, I don’t know how much we can trust her,” Clint whispers.

            “I guess we’ll have to find out. Besides, this is the only lead we’ve got,” I whisper back.

            Viktoria returns a few moments later, keys in hand. “Shall we?”

            “Let’s go!” I jump to my feet, motioning for Clint and Maria to do the same. We climb into our car and instruct our driver to follow Viktoria. Along the way, we formulate a plan in case we have an opportunity to get close to Dmitri.

            His cabin is about 20 minutes away, buried deep within the woods. We have the driver pull the car over about 100 feet from the building. Viktoria stops, too, and we quickly fill her in on the plan. We wait with our car a bit and let her approach the cabin by herself; if Dmitri’s here, we don’t want to tip him off that she’s not alone. As stealthily as possible, the three of us move closer to get a better vantage point.

            Viktoria hesitantly walks up to the door, her hand shaking as she raises it to knock. “Dmitri?” she calls out in a wavering voice. “It’s Vikki. Are you here?”

            “Vik? What are you doing here?” Dmitri opens the door. “This isn’t really the best time.”

            “I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced, but I feel we need to talk about our relationship.”

            “You drove all the way out here for a conversation that could have been had over the phone?”

            “You know I prefer face-to-face interactions.” She glances out into the woods before her gaze shifts to her shoes.

            “Yeah, okay. I guess my family can wait if you think this is so important,” Dmitri sighs. “Would you like to come inside?”

            “Actually, I’d rather talk out here. It’s more private.”

            “This isn’t going to be good, is it?” he groans. “Listen, Vik, now’s not a good time for me, you know that, and—”

            “Dmitri,” Viktoria interrupts. “I’m not here to break up with you. Let’s just take a walk.”

            “Okay…”

            Viktoria takes his hand, leading him into the woods and away from his family members. He glances back, momentarily unsure of his decision to blindly follow his girlfriend, but then seems to convince himself everything will be fine. Each step brings them closer to where Clint, Maria, and I are hidden. When they’re about 5 feet away, Viktoria drops Dmitri’s hand and takes a few steps back.

            “Dmitri, you know I love you, but some serious issues have been brought to my attention lately and I need some clarification.”

            “Issues? What are you talking about?”

            “Well, I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately with all your sister’s health issues, but your temper has gotten out of hand.”

            “My… temper? When have I ever lost my temper with you?” he raises his voice.

            “Right now! I’m trying to have a civil conversation, and you’re already yelling!”

            “Vikki,” Dmitri pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m not mad. No more yelling, I promise. I just don’t understand why this is so important right now. Or have you forgotten what day it is?”

            “What… day? What does the date have to do with anything?”

            “It’s my mom’s birthday. Probably her last one with Katerina. The whole family’s inside, trying to fake a smile for her. And you know about my father’s sudden death last week.”

            “Oh God,” she gasps. “I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. You must think I’m incredibly insensitive. I just had the sudden urge to come see you and give you a piece of my mind—I didn’t even stop to think.”

            “It’s okay. Was there anything else you needed to discuss?”

            “Yes, but now…”

            “Please. We’re both here now, so just say what you came to say to me.”

            Viktoria takes a deep breath. “I had some visitors who informed me about your misdeeds.”

            “What misdeeds? Who did you talk to?”

            “I don’t know exactly who they were, but they had a lot of questions and said you were on a violent rampage.”

            “I would never! Vik, this is important. What did you tell them?” Dmitri grips Viktoria’s shoulders tightly.

            “Mitja, you’re hurting me!”

            “What. Did. You. Tell. Them?” his whole demeanor suddenly shifts; his posture straightens, causing him to tower over Viktoria even more than he did before. His knuckles turn white as he squeezes her shoulders as hard as he can. A fire burns in his eyes, overshadowing the fear lurking in his mind. Viktoria shrinks away, now scared for her life. Clint starts to move forward, wanting to protect her, but I stop him. His eyes plead with me, but I shake my head. We can’t let him know we’re here yet.

            “I didn’t tell them anything! I swear! Dmitri, please let go of me!” she screams.

            Dmitri clamps his hands over her mouth as he whips his head around, turning back toward his cabin. The front door creaks open, and Alyona steps out onto the porch.

            “Mitja, honey, is everything alright?”

            “Yes, mother. Viktoria and I were just talking… I have everything under control. Go back to your party!”

            “Okay, if you say so.” She turns and goes back inside.

            Dmitri slowly releases Viktoria. “I’m sorry, Vik. I didn’t mean to hurt you, it’s just these people are trying to ruin my life. They’ve been spreading lies about me to anyone they can get to. They even talked to my poor mother. I don’t know what that red-haired bitch’s problem is, but she’s gone too far.”

            “How can I be sure you’re telling me the truth?” Viktoria takes a step back, arms crossed against her chest. “I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”

            “But you do know me! Vikki, I swear to you I would never kill anyone. Do you really think I’m capable of committing murder?” Dmitri pleads.

            “I guess I don’t know what to believe.”

            “You’re seriously going to trust some strangers over _me_? I thought you were smarter than that, Vik.”

            “I’m a whole lot smarter now that my eyes have been opened to the truth! You’re not who I thought you were. I came here hoping that you’d be able to prove those people wrong, hoping you could convince me beyond any shadow of a doubt that you were innocent. But all you’ve done is give me more reasons to believe they’re right about you. It’s over, Dmitri. I’m done.” Viktoria turns and walks away from him, angry tears streaming down her face.

            “Vik! Wait!” Dmitri starts after her, walking right between where Clint and I lay hidden. Maria nods at us, signaling it’s time to move. I remain crouched as I move forward. Clint stands, gun in hand, and steps out from his hiding place.

            “Hey! Asshole! Stop!” he commands.

            Dmitri pauses, turning to look back at Clint. “Who the fuck are you?”

            “Let’s just say we know some of the same people,” Clint smirks, strategically moving toward Dmitri. Now that Dmitri’s distracted, I’m able to position myself behind him. Maria joins me, passing me a pair of handcuffs. As much as I’d love to take him down here, he’s got some explaining to do, and I don’t think Viktoria would be able to handle us killing her now-ex-boyfriend in front of her.

            “What the hell does _that_ mean? Who are you and what are you doing here?” Dmitri demands.

            “I believe you know my wife. Now, I would love to pull the trigger and end your miserable life once and for all, but I know she would never forgive me; she’s insisted that she gets to kill you herself.”

            “What? ... Aw, fuck. Natasha.” Dmitri grits his teeth and moves into a defensive stance. “So, you think you can make it out of here alive?”

            “Oh, I’m certain I can. See, you may have looked into Nat’s past and skills, but you haven’t looked into mine. I think it’s about time you got a taste of your own medicine,” Clint grins wickedly.

            Maria and I spring into action, tackling Dmitri to the ground. I slap the cuffs onto his wrists, twisting his arms painfully in the process. He cries out and tries to flip over, but I shove my knee into the middle of his back, right between his shoulder blades. A swift kick to the nose stuns him. I’m about to kick him again when Maria pulls me back.

            “He’s down. We got him.”

            “Nat, save it for later.” Clint hauls Dmitri off the ground.

            Viktoria wanders back, tears in her eyes. I attempt to stop her, to keep her away from this lunatic, but she pushes past me.

            “Vik, you helped them?” Dmitri says incredulously. “How could you? How could you betray me like this?”

            “Betray you?” she sniffles. “I don’t even know you. You’re a psychopath and a murderer, NOT the man I thought I loved.”

            “I told you, they lied! I’m not a killer! I—”

            “Save it,” Viktoria snaps, “for someone who will actually buy your pathetic excuses. I’m done with your bullshit.” She glares defiantly at him before marching off toward her car.

            The three of us drag Dmitri back to our car and lock him in the trunk. I pull out my phone to give Nick the good news.

            “Romanoff?”

            “Nick, we have Dmitri. Alyona is here, too, but it’s going to be trickier getting to her. What should we do?”

            “Bring Dmitri back to the hotel. Alyona isn’t very much of a priority right now. The important thing is Dmitri is in your custody.”

            “We’ll head back, then. How’s Bucky?”

            “Angry, but better. The doctor called. There was too little of whatever we were drugged with left in my system for them to identify it.”

            “Hopefully our friend here will shed a little light on the issue. Okay, we’ll see you when we get back.”

            “Affirmative.” _Click_.


	16. Chapter 16

            After determining that sneaking Dmitri into (not to mention out of) the hotel would be damn near impossible, we decide to just go through the front door. The desk clerk practically falls out of his chair when he sees us, so Clint stops to convince him we’re actually bounty hunters. Which is sort of true, I guess. As soon as we get to Nick’s room, we inject Dmitri with a sedative so he can’t cause any trouble on the way home.

            “Are we just going to let Alyona get away with helping him?” I ask.

            “We don’t really have much of a choice for now. The best we can do is give S.H.I.E.L.D. her information and hope someone takes care of her later. Dmitri was our top priority, and mission finally accomplished,” Nick replies. “And don’t worry, Natasha. You’ll still get to kill him. _After_ we get the information we need.”

            “If anyone else takes him out, they’re going down, too,” I growl. “This son of a bitch is mine.”

            “I don’t think anyone’s gonna fight you on that, babe.” Clint throws his arm over my shoulders.

            “So we’re really going home now? This nightmare is finally over?” Bucky asks hopefully.

            “Yes, we’re heading home, but I wouldn’t necessarily call this case over. We got the guy, and while that’s great and all, there’s obviously something big going on that we need to shut down. If we’re lucky, Dmitri will have some answers about all those stolen weapons,” Nick says. “Now, let’s pack up and move out.”

            Finally, a week and a half after returning to Volgograd, I get to board a plane and leave. I choose to not look out the window as we take off, knowing I never want to come back. Whatever good memories I may have had of my family are gone, overshadowed by all the pain and suffering I’ve endured. I notice Bucky’s curled up in the back, refusing to talk to anyone. God, I hope we can both recover from this trip.

            Clint sits down across from me, that worried look back in his eyes. He furrows his brow, trying to think of something to say. Apparently coming up with nothing, we sit in silence. A little while later he opens his mouth, but then seems to change his mind and closes it again.

            “What?” I finally break the silence.

            “Nothing.”

            “No, you were going to say something. Spit it out.”

            “I was just going to reiterate that nothing that went wrong on this mission was your fault.”

            “Don’t you dare. Georgy’s death is on me. How would you even know; you weren’t there.” I turn to look out the window; anything’s better than seeing the sadness and concern etched on his face.

            “It’s not like I didn’t want to be there! Maybe things would have gone differently if I had come with…”

            “Stop. It’s no use wondering ‘what if?’ What happened happened and there’s nothing we can do about it. Innocent people died because I couldn’t do my job. End of story.”

            “Innocent people died because Dmitri is a psychopath! Nat, Georgy would have died no matter what.”

            “You can’t know that!” Angry tears threaten to roll down my face.

            “Natasha,” he says softly, “you have to stop blaming yourself for everything. Look what it’s doing to you. To us. I can’t lose you.”

            “I’m going to need time,” I sigh. “This case has affected me in ways I never imagined possible. I don’t know if I can truly be myself again. Or, more accurately, who I was before I boarded that plane.”

            “I know. We can get through this together. I’m not going to pretend I understand, because I clearly don’t—I didn’t experience what you did—but I am going to be here for you. Whatever you need, you know I will _always_ be here for you. I love you with all my heart, and nothing’s going to change that.” Clint reaches over to hold my hand, but I instinctively pull away. A pained look flashes across his face as he looks down at his feet. Feeling like shit, I place my hand on top of his.

            “I’m sorry, Clint. I love you, too, and I wish things could go back to normal, but I know that’s going to take a while. Please bear with me. I’ll do my best to not push you away, but you have to give me space when I need it.”

            He brings his eyes back up to meet mine. “Anything, my love.” That crooked smile is back as relief floods his face. He stands to leave, but I grab his hand, holding him back. “Nat?”

            “I could use some sleep. Will you stay with me?”

            “Of course.” Clint takes the seat next to me now and lifts the armrest. I lay my head on his shoulder, curling up against his side. “ _Lights will guide you home| and ignite your bones| and I will try to fix you_ ,” he sings softly.

            I drift off to sleep, and for the first time in a week, I’m not instantly bombarded with images of my deepest fears. It’s actually quite peaceful. Clint and I lay on a checkered blanket in the middle of a meadow. The wind gently teases my hair, lifting individual curls and then letting them drop suddenly. An unexpected giggle escapes my lips, causing Clint to chuckle. I can feel his body shaking as he turns his head to gaze lovingly into my eyes. We stay there in contented silence, enjoying the warm sunshine and lack of responsibility.

            “Momma!” a high pitched, laughing voice comes out of nowhere. A young girl, probably around two, toddles over to us, her bright red curls bouncing with each unsteady step.

            “Merida!” Clint beams, scooping the girl up into his arms and kissing her cheek.

            “Daddy!” she giggles.

            “Here, show mommy some love, too!” Clint hands the squirming child to me. Surprised, I hold her at arm’s length. Merida and Clint look confused as I fail to respond appropriately.

            “Mommy? Clint, whose child is this?” I ask slowly, afraid of the answer for some reason.

            “She’s ours, Nat. How can you not remember your own child?” Clint takes the now crying girl back from me. He holds her close, doing his best to convince her everything’s okay.

            “I… I can’t have children. She _can’t_ be mine.”

            “What are you talking about? Natasha, I was there through the whole process. I know for a fact that she’s yours.”

            “But they sterilized me in the Red Room. It was part of my final training. I—”

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Red Room? Training? What are you talking about?”

            “The Red Room was where I was trained to become Black Widow.”

            “A _spider_?”

            “An assassin.”

            “Nat, you work for Google. You’re one of the best hackers they have. You are most definitely not an assassin,” Clint laughs.

            “But… Then what do you do?”

            “I’m a food critic. Honestly, Nat, what’s gotten into you today? Where do you come up with this stuff?”

            So this must be what having a normal life is like. I don’t know what I expected, but it evidently wasn’t this. Working for a multi-billion dollar company, having children. Not having to worry about our safety 24/7. Man, that would be nice. You know what? This seems pretty great. Let’s see where this goes.

            “Must have been a really realistic dream,” I smile sheepishly. “Sorry, baby. Mommy wasn’t herself for a little bit there.” I hold my hands out to my child. She squeals happily, jumping into my arms. Clint grins, obviously relieved I’m back to “normal.”

            I find I’m surprisingly good with kids as I cuddle the young girl who is supposedly mine. It isn’t until the sun starts to set that we realize how late it is and pack up to head home. Instead of my usual sports car, we pile into a silver minivan. About halfway home, Merida dozes off, a stuffed bear clutched to her chest. Clint glances in the rearview mirror and smiles, enthralled by his sleeping daughter.

            “We’re so lucky,” he sighs, turning to look at me. “Scratch that. _I’m_ so lucky. Drop dead gorgeous wife, beautiful daughter, great job… Could life get any better?”

            “It would be great if you would watch the road instead of gawking at me,” I tease.

            “Sorry, Nat. I know we’ve been married for a few years now, but I sometimes still have trouble believing someone as stunning and amazing as you could fall in love with someone like me.”

            “What’s not to love? You’re the sweetest guy I know. Not too bad looking, either. You get me and my twisted sense of humor. We’ve been through a lot together, and there’s no one I’d rather be with.”

            “I love you, Natasha.”

            “I love you, too, Clint.”

            This world’s not too bad. Sure, I’m no longer a superhero, but it’s nice to have a normal job for once. My past isn’t the mess it is in the real world, and I have a child. Since I’m not an assassin-turned-Avenger, she’s not in constant danger. If only this world was my reality, everything would be much simpler. And happier. Strip away all the death and destruction that plagues me on a regular basis. The horrific events I have somehow, yet barely, survived. The psychological ailments that come with my job and responsibilities. Take all that away, and this is who’s left: a tired girl who just wants to be normal for once. All my life, I have struggled with being different. Everyone I assumes I’m emotionless, but there’s an inner turmoil hidden just beneath the surface of the mask I have to wear. But I know that any slip-up could mean someone’s death.

            A pair of headlights come out of nowhere, blinding me. I hear the collision more than I feel it, as I’m pulled back to consciousness. The sound of my heart pounding fills my ears as I gasp for breath.

            “Nat! Are you okay? Did you have another nightmare?” Clint wraps his arms around me, attempting to calm me down.

            “It wasn’t really a nightmare. At least, not until the very end. We were… us, but not quite.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “We were… _normal_. Not Hawkeye and Black Widow, just Clint and Natasha. And…” I trail off, unable to finish my thought.

            “And? What happened?”

            “And we were a family. You, me, and our little girl,” I mutter.

            “Oh, Nat, I’m so sorry you had to experience that.” Clint pulls me closer to his chest, his chin resting on my head.

            “It’s okay. It was bound to happen sooner or later. The important thing is I knew it was a dream and didn’t get my hopes up.”

            “Did she…” he swallows hard. “Did she have a name?”

            “Do you really want to know it?”

            “I think I need to.”

            “Merida,” I whisper hoarsely.

            “Beautiful,” he whispers back, his voice catching on the last syllable.

            We sit quietly, mourning what could never be. Even if I was able to have children, we agreed it would be a bad idea. We have so many enemies that would find a way to use them against us. They could easily end up as collateral damage during a fight; it just would never be safe for them. Plus, it’s hard enough to successfully secure new identities for myself. Trying to do what we do with a child would be almost impossible.

            “Tasha? Clint? Everything okay?” Bucky takes a seat across from us.

            “We’re fine,” I sniffle. “It was just a dream.”

            “I understand. How bad?”

            “It hit a nerve with both of us.”

            “They tend to do that,” he nods. “Well, we’re getting close to New York. Dmitri started to wake up, so I gave him more of the M99. He’s out cold again.”

            “Great. What time is it?”

            “Almost midnight.”

            “That means interrogations will happen tomorrow. Good. I think we could all use a good night’s rest.”

            “Agreed. I can’t wait to get home and back to my wife. She’s been worried sick I wouldn’t return.”

            “I’m sure she has. Erin’s a worrier.”

            “Yeah…” Bucky falls quiet, his gaze shifting to the window.

            “Bucky? Are you okay?”

            “Me? I’ll be fine,” he shrugs off the question.

            “Bucky. Seriously. Are you okay? Because I’m pretty messed up, and you were given way more of that knockout drug than I was.”

            “It’s okay, Tasha. Ever since my time with Hydra, I’ve been pretty good at bouncing back after something traumatic. I’m used to the nightmares because I already had them. So don’t worry about me, worry about yourself. You witnessed more than I did.”

            “I suppose you’re right, but just know that if you need _anything_ , I’m here for you.”

            “Same goes for me,” Clint smiles somberly.

            “Thanks, guys. I know you’ll always have my back, even when I’m trying to kill you. Sorry about that, again.”

            “Don’t mention it. It wasn’t your fault,” I shrug.

            “We’ve all been there at some point,” Clint laughs.

            “Ain’t that the truth,” I sigh. We fall quiet once again, unsure of what’s left to be said. Turning toward the window, I gaze out at the millions of twinkling stars scattered across the night sky. The moon is almost completely full, its hue a touch yellow. Far below us, a few lights pierce the darkness, identifying homes far away from the city. Several of the spots quickly disappear as the houses’ occupants make their way to bed. A large cluster of lights up ahead alert me that we’re nearing a city. Since Bucky said we were almost home, it must be New York. Finally, home sweet home.

            “Romanoff.” Nick’s gruff voice disrupts my reverie. He pointedly glances down at the seat next to him, so I stand and carefully make my way over there.

            “What’s up, boss?”

            “I am in need of some, uh, assistance.” He lowers his voice. “As you know, I haven’t exactly slept since we were rescued—”

            “At all? Nick, that can’t be healthy!” I admonish him.

            “I know, I know. Keep your voice down,” he growls. “Obviously I need some rest. Which is why I need your help—”

            “How am I supposed to help?”

            “If you’d let me finish, you’d know.”

            “Sorry. Continue.”

            “After we land and get Dmitri in a secure facility, I want you to lock me in a room and give me a dose of the M99.”

            “Why do I need to lock you up?”

            “I don’t know what sort of reaction I’ll have. You seem to wake up screaming, but Bucky is disoriented and quickly attacks. Natasha, you’re the only one I trust to do this.”

            “What about Maria?”

            “Hill’s a great agent, but she can’t possibly understand what I’m going through. What _we’re_ going through. I know you can remain objective and, if it comes to it, can find a way to talk me down. You always seem to know exactly how to connect with people.”

            “Okay, but why are we keeping this secret from everyone else?”

            “I don’t need them worrying about me. So this stays between us. Will you help me?” His expression softens from its usual stony grimace to a pleading half-smile. For the first time ever, Nick appears almost childlike to me.

            “Of course I’ll help. Whatever you need, I’m here for you,” I smile back, knowing all too well the intense fear he must be feeling.

            Our pilot announces that we’ll be landing shortly and it’s time to fasten our seatbelts. The descent is smooth, and soon we’re grabbing our luggage, ready to head home. We find Erin, Jenna, and Steve waiting in the hangar, relieved smiles plastered on their faces. No words are exchanged, but we all embrace one another tightly. It’s clear everyone is exhausted and glad we’re home. Clint starts heading for my car, but hesitates when he notices I haven’t moved.

            “Nat? Aren’t you coming home?”

            “Eventually. I need to take care of a few things at headquarters first.”

            “Can’t it wait until morning?” He tilts his head slightly.

            “Afraid not. Nick wants my help securing the asshole—sorry, Dmitri—and then we have some paperwork to fill out.”

            “Need me to come with?”

            “No, go get some sleep. We can handle this.”

            “But you’ll be home soon, right?”

            “Two at the latest.”

            “Promise?”

            “Promise. I love you.”

            “I love you, too, Nat.” He reluctantly climbs into my car alone, watching me in the rearview mirror as he drives away. Steve, Jenna, Bucky, and Erin have all gone home by this point, so it’s just Nick, Dmitri, and me left in the hangar. We not-so-carefully throw the still unconscious Dmitri into the trunk of Nick’s car and head over to headquarters.

            Several stories below the main floor, S.H.I.E.L.D. has containment rooms for people deemed especially dangerous. Conveniently, the interrogation rooms are located just down the hall. Even though Dmitri is only human, we decide it’s for the best to leave him on this floor.

_SUBFLOOR G, CONTAINMENT ROOM 12._

_SUBJECT: DMITRI TIPPENS KRUSHNIC._

_ORIGIN: RUSSIA, EARTH._

_SPECIES: HUMAN._

_THREAT LEVEL: UNKNOWN._

flashes across the triple-thick, bulletproof glass viewing window as soon as we lock the door.

            “Ready, boss?” I hold out the vial of M99 in front of me.

            “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Nick sighs as he hands me a syringe. I load it with the correct dose and usher him into containment room 11. I slip the needle into his neck, quickly pushing down on the plunger. Nick drops onto the bed almost instantly.

            “Goodnight, Nick. See ya in the morning,” I whisper as I walk out the door. I open the live security camera feeds on my phone and change the settings to give me instant alerts if there is any significant movement or noise from either room.

            Since Clint drove my car home from the hangar, I borrow a company car. It’s 1:55 a.m. when I pull into my driveway. Perfect—I promised to be back before 2. I slink up the stairs, hoping to not wake Clint. However, his bedside lamp is still on when I open the door.

            “I was beginning to worry you weren’t coming home.”

            “I always come home,” I shrug. “I can’t believe you’re still up.”

            “Yeah, well, after this week, I was more than a little concerned about you. Can you blame me?”

            “I guess not,” I say as I take off my jewelry. “You know, you’re really cute when you’re worried.” I wink seductively, slipping out of my rumpled clothes and into a nightgown.

            “Are you feeling okay, Nat?”

            “I’m feeling fantastic,” I purr. “Absolutely _delightful_.” As soon as I’ve crawled into bed, I reach across Clint to turn off the light, plunging us into darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

            “Nat? Natasha, wake up!” Clint gently shakes me awake, his voice urgent. “Your phone has been going off for almost 10 minutes—something must be going on!”

            “Fuck!” I grab my phone to find an alert that Dmitri is up and moving. “Is there seriously no one on the nightshift that can take care of this? It’s only 4 a.m., for God’s sake!”

            “There probably isn’t anyone with high enough clearance to go that far down in the basement. Want me to come with?”

            “If you want to, sure. Otherwise you can stay here and sleep—your choice,” I shrug as I throw on clothes.

            “I slept about an hour, so I should be fine for a little while. Plus, you probably shouldn’t be alone with this guy. At least, not until after we get answers from him.” Clint pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Right before the fabric covers his chest, I notice several bruises, just starting to turn purple.

            “What happened to you?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You’re covered in _bruises!_ ”

            “Oh, those? It’s fine, really.”

            “Clinton Francis Barton. Tell me what happened.”

            “Now?” he groans. “Well, I wasn’t going to mention it, but I’m guessing you had a nightmare, and you kind of started attacking me.”

            “I _what?_ Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” I lift his shirt to examine the damage. Sure enough, the bruises are a perfect match to my fists. “I don’t even remember what I dreamt about. Maybe I should sleep on the couch from now on.”

            “It’s fine, Nat. I probably deserve it for all I put you through.”

            “What are you talking about? I’m the one constantly causing trouble. I can’t bear the thought of hurting you—” My phone starts going off again, this time to alert me that Nick is awake now, too. “Crap. We’ve got to go. We can talk about this later.”

            We don’t see a single car on our way to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, which allows us to speed a bit more than usual. Within 5 minutes of leaving our house, we’re on the elevator headed down. As soon as the doors open, I remember Clint doesn’t know Nick is here.

            “I know this may sound weird, but wait here,” I instruct him.

            “What do you mean wait here?”

            “I can’t really explain the whole situation right now, but there’s something I have to take care of. Alone.”

            “Nat, if you’re planning on killing Dmitri—”

            “I’m not. I just need you to trust me. I’ll be back for you in 5 minutes, tops.”

            “Just… please don’t kill anyone,” Clint sighs, defeated.

            “I won’t,” I grin, pecking him on the cheek before I dash out into the hallway. I wait for the doors to fully close before approaching containment room 11. Through the window, I see Nick curled up in a ball in the far corner. I crack open the door, moving slowly so I don’t startle him.

            “Nick?” I call out softly. “It’s Natasha. How are you feeling?” Within seconds, he has rolled into a crouch, a gun aimed at my head.

            “Who are you?” he growls.

            “Natasha Romanoff,” I say, raising my hands in a defensive position.

            “Who are you really? Don’t you dare lie to me again!”

            “Nick, it’s really me! I’m the only one who knew you were here.”

            “Impossible. You must have been compromised.”

            “I swear to you, I’m here as a friend. Where did you get the gun?” I step a little closer.

            “Oh, you’d like to know that, wouldn’t you? Don’t move. I may only have one working eye, but my aim is just as good as it was when I had two.”

            “I know it is. Listen, you’ve been exposed to a gas that has some psychological side effects. But everything will be fine. Just give me the gun.”

            “Why should I trust you?”

            “Because I’m one of the few people in the world that you’ve let get close to you. And I really don’t want to have to hurt you.”

            “ _You_ … hurt _me_? Lady, I’m the one with a gun here.”

            “And I could easily disarm you in a matter of seconds. Which I won’t have to do if you’ll just give me the gun.”

            “Tell me something only a close friend would know.”

            “Oh, for Pete’s sake—”

            “Do it or I’ll shoot!”

            “Fine,” I sigh. “You have an android version of yourself that you occasionally send out on bad dates.”

            Nick’s posture relaxes and he slowly stands, lowering his weapon. I inch closer, hoping he won’t turn on me. Moving swiftly, I grab his gun and hit him over the head with it, knocking him to the ground. I hate to do it, but maybe a little cognitive recalibration will help. Quickly running out of time, I lock the door again and type in a code to bring down an opaque screen to cover the window. I sprint back to the elevator to let Clint out.

            “Care to explain why I had to wait here?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked.

            “Not now. I might need help subduing Dmitri.”

            “Fine. Let’s go.”

            By the time we reach Dmitri’s cell, he has calmed down a lot. Originally, he was thrashing about, trying to escape. Now, he appears cool and collected, which is much more worrisome.

            “Hello, Natasha,” he smirks from behind the glass. “I see you’ve brought Clint. Still interested in our deal?”

            “Fuck off,” I scowl. “We’re only here to put you back to sleep.”

            “Oh my. Am I sensing some tension there? Marital troubles, perhaps?” A wide grin spreads across his smug face.

            “We’re fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “And even if we weren’t, it would be none of your goddamn business.”

            “Oh, this is fun. I’ve never seen such an extreme reaction to my special knockout gas.”

            “Just you wait until I’m allowed to rip your fucking head off, you psychopathic bastard!” I start to lunge toward the glass, but Clint holds me back.

            “Nat, stop. He’s trying to get into your head, and you’re _letting him_. Step back, take a deep breath, and calm down,” he whispers in my ear. I reluctantly walk a few feet down the hall, my heart and mind racing.

            “Your wife’s got quite the temper,” Dmitri chuckles, shaking his head gently.

            “Yes, but her anger is always directed at those who deserve it,” Clint glares back.

            “Touché.” Dmitri arches his eyebrows, apparently surprised by Clint’s quick, witty response. “Natasha, darling, are you ready to come talk to me again?”

            “Fuck you. Dragging me all the way out here in the middle of the night…” I mutter. “You know what? I just remembered a new feature they installed in these rooms.” I walk over to the wall next to the door where there is a screen mounted at about chest height. I type in a few commands, and white gas fills the room. It quickly dissipates, and Dmitri is on the floor, out cold.

            “When did they upgrade the containment rooms?” Clint asks excitedly.

            “A couple months ago. It’s been a while since we’ve had to use them, so I forgot all about the new features. Speaking of…” I walk over to containment room 11 and punch in the same codes.

            “Who’s in there?”

            “Oh, just someone Nick asked me to take care of.”

            “Is that why I had to wait in the elevator?”

            “Yep. Come on. Let’s head home—I’m exhausted.”

            It’s a little past 4:30 when we get back to our house. We sluggishly change back into pajamas, drowsiness threatening to pull us under where we stand. Clint crawls back into bed, but I start for the door, pillow in hand.

            “Where are you going?” Clint sits back up.

            “I’m gonna sleep on the couch.”

            “No, you’re not.”

            “Clint, I don’t want to hurt you again.”

            “I told you, I’m fine! For God’s sake Nat, just get in bed.”

            “If I did _that_ to you in an hour, who knows what I could do with more time!”

            “You’re being ridiculous; it’s only a few bruises. You know I’ve had worse. Remember the arrow through my head?”

            “When you lost your hearing, yeah. But Clint, I’m tired of hurting people I love. I don’t want to push you away, but I think it’s probably best if you’re out of arm’s reach for right now.”

            “Fine,” he sighs, “but let me take the couch.”

            “You don’t need to do that.”

            “Yes, I do. I love you and just want you to get better. Please, let me do this for you.” He gets up and grabs his pillow. On his way to the door, he stops to kiss me gently.

            “I love you, too. And I’ll do my best to fix this.” Tears well up in my eyes, but I fight them back.

            “Just remember you’re not alone. As long as my heart’s still beating, you’ll _never_ have to be alone. Goodnight, my love.”

            “Goodnight, dear.”


	18. Chapter 18

            I manage to sleep in until 9, waking to the smell of eggs and bacon. I run downstairs, my stomach growling loudly.

            “Morning!” I smile as I walk into the kitchen. Clint is still at the stove, his back turned to me.

            “Good morning! How’d you sleep?”

            “I don’t really remember any of my dreams, so good, I guess. How was the couch?”

            “Much more comfortable than our old leather one.” Clint finally turns around, the smile immediately falling from his face. He drops the plate full of eggs, which clatters on the floor.

            “What’s wrong?” I frown.

            “Nat, have you looked in a mirror yet today?”

            “No. I woke up and came straight downstairs. Why?” I ask, suddenly getting worried.

            “Well, it seems after I was no longer there, you started hurting yourself in your sleep.”

            “ _What_?” I run to the bathroom, stopping short as soon as I see my reflection. “…What the _hell_?” I gingerly touch the bruises covering the right side of my face. Several scratches, now clotted and scabbed over, cut across my cheeks. As gently as possible, I wash my face and start applying concealer so I don’t look so monstrous. The bruises I can cover for the most part, but the scratches are much harder to hide. Eventually, I give up and return to the kitchen. “Better?”

            “Nat, you really need to see a doctor. This isn’t normal.”

            “You think I don’t know that? But if doctors couldn’t do anything for Nick, what would be different if I went to see one? What I need is for Dmitri to give us some fucking answers, and then to rip his fucking head off!”

            “And you will. As soon as Nick calls, we’ll start the interrogation.”

            “Fuck. I forgot about Nick!”

            “What the hell do you mean by that?”

            “He’s… sort of locked in one of the containment rooms,” I reply sheepishly.

            “What? Why?”

            “Well, he hadn’t slept since we were rescued, so he asked me to knock him out and lock him up in case he had a bad reaction like Bucky.”

            “And did he?”

            “Temporary memory loss, distrust, and conspiracy theorist thinking. He somehow also found a gun, which I’m like 90% sure wasn’t in there when I locked the door.”

            “How bizarre. We should probably go let him out soon.”

            “Yeah… After breakfast?” I grin.

            “Sure,” Clint laughs, cracking a few more eggs into the still-hot frying pan.

            Twenty minutes later we set out in separate cars (so I can return the one I borrowed) to headquarters. When the elevator doors open on subfloor G, I’m surprised to find Maria in the hallway, staring into Dmitri’s cell.

            “Natasha? Clint? What are you guys doing here? Did Nick call you?” she asks, puzzled.

            “No, but I have specific orders to check in on one of the containment rooms,” I reply casually.

            “I assume you’re talking about number 11, there? I tried to override the shielding commands, but couldn’t.”

            “That’s because I’m the one who issued them.”

            “Who’s in there?”

            “I’m sorry, Maria, but that’s classified information.”

            “You do know I read all your mission reports, right?”

            “Trust me: you don’t read all of them. Now, if you would excuse us, I have someone to see.”

            “Fine,” she replies tersely. “I’ll be upstairs in my office if you need anything.” Once she’s gone, I turn to Clint.

            “Now, technically, you’re not supposed to know about this, so you should probably stay in the hall. If anything goes wrong, you know my override code so you can come in and help. You remember it, don’t you?”

            “05161128. The anniversaries of our wedding and first date. How could I forget?”

            “Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can, hopefully with a coherent Nick.”

            “Be careful. I love you.”

            “Always and forever,” I smile before slipping into containment room 11. This time, I find Nick seated on the cot in the corner, his head in his hands. “Nick?” I ask cautiously.

            “Natasha?” He lifts his head. “Where are we?”

            “We’re in S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, several stories below ground. Do you remember anything that’s happened in the past few days?”

            “We were… on a mission in Russia, I think,” he says slowly.

            “Correct. Go on.”

            “The details are kinda fuzzy, but I know something went wrong. Why does my head hurt so much?”

            As quickly as possible, I run him through recent events, leaving out the fact that I sort of pistol-whipped him to knock him out again. He nods more and more the longer I talk, his memory slowly coming back to him.

            “And so now we need to interrogate the ass-hat in the room next door. Do you want to make the calls or should I?” Nick asks.

            “You should probably do it—to keep up appearances, at least.”

            “Fair enough. I assume Clint is already here?”

            “He’s waiting in the hallway.”

            “He knows I’m here?!”

            “I told him not even an hour ago. Relax. He’s my husband; he was going to find out sooner or later,” I shrug.

            “I swear you used to be better at keeping secrets,” Nick growls.

            “There are plenty of secrets I’m currently keeping! You being here just ranked lower on my scale of importance than the others.”

            “Gee, thanks.”

            “It’s no big deal, Nick. You didn’t want anyone else to worry about you, but Clint’s too busy being worried about me to care all that much.”

            “Nice to know he cares about me,” Nick sneers.

            “You know what I mean.”

            “Yeah. And he should be concerned about you. You’re clearly not getting better. What happened to your face?”

            “Long story—we can talk later. Right now, I want to get this interrogation underway so we can be rid of this bastard once and for all.”

            “Yeah, yeah. I’ll make some phone calls.”

            After exiting the containment room, Nick gets a hold of Bucky and Maria to join us for the interrogation. Since Maria was on the main floor of the building, she’s there with us in under a minute. Bucky takes a bit longer, so we awkwardly stand around outside Dmitri’s cell. When he finally arrives, we give Dmitri a fast-acting, but short-lived, knockout drug so we can transfer him to the interrogation room. We chain him to the table and chair in the center of the gray and black room. Clint pulls me back out the door to talk somewhat privately.

            “I don’t think you should be in there right now.”

            “What are you talking about? I _need_ to be in there,” I retort.

            “Nat, after everything that’s happened, even just in the last few hours, I think it would be best if you just watched. At least for a little bit.”

            “I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

            “I _do_ trust you, it’s just… your reactions have been a little extreme and unpredictable lately.”

            “Oh, is _that_ what you think?” I narrow my eyes, my blood starting to boil.

            “This is exactly what I’m talking about! Now is not the time to go in with a hot head.”

            “What’s going on out here?” Nick pokes his head out the door.

            “Clint wants me to stay out of the interrogation room.”

            “Well, he’s probably right.”

            “Excuse you?”

            “Natasha, tell me what happened to your face.”

            “I…” I start, looking down. “Apparently I hurt myself in my sleep.”

            “Apparently? We all know Clint could never do that to you.”

            “That didn’t stop her from hitting me.” Clint lifts his shirt, revealing the deep purple bruises scattered across his chest.

            “That’s not fair! I was asleep! I don’t remember hurting anybody!” I raise my voice, attracting the attention of Maria and Bucky.

            “Dear God,” Maria gasps.

            “Tasha, I think Clint is right,” Bucky says. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll stay out the interrogation room, too. I’m in no shape to question the dick who kept me prisoner for almost a week, anyway.”

            “Fine,” I grumble. “Go on without me. It’s not like this was my mission or anything…”

            “That’s the spirit!” Nick says. “Now let’s get this interrogation started.”

            Clint, Nick, and Maria file into the interrogation room, leaving Bucky and me behind the one-way mirror. Dmitri is just beginning to wake up when Nick starts laying out his files.

            “Dmitri Tippens Krushnic, you are being accused of 40 counts of murder, 3 counts of kidnapping, and aggravated assault. Unfortunately for you, we don’t care too much about rules here, and you’ll never see the inside of a courtroom. Now, you may buy yourself time by providing answers to our questions. Do you follow?” Nick says calmly.

            “Where is Natasha?” Dmitri defiantly glares back.

            “She’s not here right now.”

            “Don’t give me that bullshit. There’s no way she would miss this. So where is she?”

            “In the hallway. Why?”

            “I’ll only talk to her.”

            “Oh for the love of God…”

            “If you want answers, get her in here.”

            Unable to restrain myself, I barge in. I fight the urge to start yelling obscenities, knowing that if I can’t remain civil Nick will throw me out in a heartbeat.

            “Natasha, my darling,” Dmitri smiles. “It’s good to see you again! What would you like to know?”

            “Everything. Let’s start with why you decided to do all this.” I grit my teeth, swallowing the bile that’s risen in my throat.

            “Ah, from the beginning. Well, you see, I did not grow up in a very happy home. I’m sure there were good times, though I cannot remember any. We lived in that squalid home, which is where my mother still lives, as you know. Can you imagine fitting a family of five in that place? Katerina, Larisa, and I had to share a room, or should I say half a room. A thin curtain divided our section from our parents’. We lived this way for about six months, and then mother couldn’t take it anymore. She was stuck in that tiny building day after day, struggling to afford to feed her children. Father had just taken a pay cut at the limo place, and mother snapped. Before we knew what was happening, she had the three of us packed, out the door, and on our way to the orphanage, where she simply dropped us on the front steps.

            “At the age of 4, I didn’t understand what was going on or why my parents never visited. Katerina was only a baby, and the poor thing didn’t even remember what life was like before. Larisa was 7 and therefore the most traumatized of the three of us. It wasn’t until my 8th birthday that we saw our parents again. Larisa had grown numb and indifferent, to my mother’s horror; Katerina, now 4-1/2, was afraid of these ‘strangers’ and ran off; I had spent half my life waiting for them to come back, so I was the only one excited to see them. It turns out father had received a raise and a bonus a year or two before, allowing him to pull our family out of crippling debt. We were still poor, but it was more manageable. So we got to go home for the first time in four years.

            “Larisa never warmed back up to our parents, and as soon as she turned 18, she was gone. Every few years she’ll send me a postcard from whatever country she’s living in at the time. It took Katerina a few years to trust our mother again, but she never grew close to father. To this day, I think she still partially believes we were adopted. It’s been really hard to prove otherwise because we could never afford a camera or to get photos developed, so the only childhood pictures we really have were taken at the orphanage.”

            “Can we jump ahead a bit? I don’t have all day,” I scowl.

            “If you wish. I have always been close with Katerina, partially because Larisa never was. A few months ago, she came to me crying, saying she was most likely going to die soon and didn’t know what to do. I took her to as many specialists as I could afford, completely emptying my bank accounts in the process. I spared no expense for my baby sister. Unfortunately, everywhere we went we got the same answer: the tumor is too close to her brainstem—there’s nothing anyone can do. One doctor had her try an experimental drug for about a week, but it only made the tumor larger. He took her off the drug to prevent further damage. Her current doctor estimates she’ll be gone in the next few weeks…” A tear slips down his cheek and falls onto his clasped hands.

            “So you murdered 40 people because your sister was dying?”

            “I am powerless to prevent her death, but when I killed… I was the one who decided how and when the families would die. They all went the same way: the father first, to spare him pain; the eldest daughter next, to symbolize Larisa’s departure from our family; the younger daughter I killed quickly, as if I could lessen Katerina’s suffering; the mother last, so she could watch her family be slaughtered. The boy almost always passed out, so they missed most of the show. I kept them with me for a week, and then hanged them the day of my next murder. Oh, the power I felt… It was such a rush! I’ve never felt anything like it before!”

            “And you never will again,” I mutter.

            “Natasha, it is impolite to mumble,” Dmitri scolds me.

            I bite my tongue, keeping my bitter remarks to myself.

            “So where did you get the weapons?” Nick places his hands on the table, lowering his head to Dmitri’s eye level.

            “I’m sorry, was I talking to you?” Dmitri frowns.

            “Disrespectful punk,” Nick grumbles as he steps back.

            “The guns, Dmitri. How did you get them?” I ask, annoyed.

            “Oh those? That was something my father was involved with. Very hush hush. I’d say you should ask him, but you had to go and make that impossible,” Dmitri scowls.

            “So you don’t know where they came from?”

            “No clue. All I know is that some member from the secret society my father is—was—a part of dropped them off in the warehouse overnight.”

            “What about your security cameras? You must have some sort of footage of this.”

            “They all went haywire at the same time. Fifteen minutes later, our system was back online and the crates were suddenly in that room.”

            “So now that you’re here and your father is gone, what will happen to the weapons?”

            “I’m sure they were gone again as soon as I had to abandon the warehouse.”

            “Natasha,” Nick commands. “A word?”

            I follow him into the hallway, leaving Clint and Maria to keep an eye on Dmitri. “What?”

            “He must know more than he’s letting on. Keep going with the weapons and secret society before moving on to the gas.”

            “I don’t think he does know anything else. He’s been surprisingly forthcoming with information so far.”

            “He has to have some sort of angle. All the honesty could be to lull us into a false sense of security so he can get away with lying later.”

            “I don’t doubt he has ulterior motives, I just don’t think I can get anything else out of him about the stolen guns. I’m moving on, whether you like it or not.” I stroll back into the room and sit down. “So, since you know next to nothing about the weapons, I want you to tell me about the knockout gas. What’s in it?”

            “Oh, this and that. Having some nasty side effects, are you?”

            “Care to elaborate on the ingredients?”

            “Only if you’ll tell me about your symptoms.”

            “Natasha.” Nick grabs my arm, pulling me into the hallway again.

            “What now? I know how to run a fucking interrogation.”

            “You need to lie to him.”

            “Why?”

            “Revealing your suffering would only make Dmitri happy. Pretend that everything is fine.”

            “How is that going to help anything? Nick, let me do this myself. You know I can handle it.” Once again, I return to the interrogation room. “Sorry about that. Nick seems to have forgotten who’s running this show.”

            “Understandable. The patriarchy and all…” Dmitri smiles at me. “Shall we continue? You were about to tell me your symptoms.”

            “Well, I had a few nightmares at first, but it’s been days since those have come back.”

            “And what else?” Dmitri leans forward in his seat, fascinated by the effect his drug has on me.

            “That’s it. Just a few nightmares.”

            “Don’t lie to me Natasha.”

            “I’m not. You asked about side effects, and I told you. It’s your turn to share something.”

            “No. Let’s try this again. What. Else?”

            “I told you—”

            “STOP LYING TO ME! What happened to your face?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “The scratches! How did you get those scratches?”

            “I was in an altercation where I momentarily lost the upper hand.”

            “In the last few hours? Remember, I saw you earlier this morning and your face was flawless. Why are you lying to me? All I’ve done is tell you the truth!”

            “At least _your_ version of the truth! TELL ME WHAT WAS IN THAT GAS!” I slam my hands down on the table in front of me, standing in the process.

            “Okay, you’re done.” Clint grabs me by the waist, pulling me away from the table. I struggle a bit, but eventually let him pull me out the door. To my surprise, he drags me all the way down the hall to the containment room I had locked Nick in. He shoves me inside and closes the door.

            “What the hell, Clint? I was getting answers from him!” I yell.

            “Do you not realize you were giving him exactly what he wants?” Clint retorts. “You’re losing it, Nat.”

            “ _I’m_ losing it? So what if I got angry? I want answers, goddammit!”

            “You just showed that sick son of a bitch how much he’s affected you! You really think he’s going to help us fix this?”

            “I—” I pause, trying to calm myself down so I can think this through. “I’m sorry. I realize now I might have blown it. But I also know he wasn’t going to talk to anyone else, so there wasn’t really any other way this interrogation could have gone. Give me a few minutes and let me try again. We need these answers.”

            “I don’t know if Nick will allow that.”

            “Fuck Nick! He hasn’t experienced everything I’ve gone through. This is _my_ mission, and I’m going to finish it.”

            “Nat, what if he refuses to tell you what was in the gas? I don’t know how we’re going to get back to normal without his help.”

            “I don’t even know if we _can_ get back to normal. After everything… We’re different. _I’m_ different. Do you not understand that?”

            “I… I guess part of me is still holding onto hope that nothing will change. I understand that this mission affected you, but maybe it’s not permanent. Can we hold off on making dramatic declarations at least until after Dmitri’s dead?” Clint pleads, and even though I’m still angry, I can’t help but give in.

            “Okay. We’ll see where this all goes. Now, will you please let me out?”

            “Sure, but I can’t guarantee Nick will let you back into that room.”

            “Oh, he has to.”


	19. Chapter 19

            After another four hours in that tiny room with Dmitri, we finally get some of the answers we need. The main ingredients we’re concerned with are the hallucinogen, depressant, and (surprisingly) a bad batch of anti-psychotic medication. Maria takes the information upstairs to get our best people working on something to reverse the effects.

            “I request to speak to Natasha alone,” Dmitri says suddenly.

            “No way in hell,” Clint scoffs.

            “I’m chained up. What could I possibly do?”

            “I’m not willing to find out. Whatever you need to say to my wife, you can say in front of me.”

            “I’m afraid not. Please, if you insist on there being another person in here, feel free to send in an agent.”

            “You’re talking to an agent. I’m not leaving.”

            “A different agent,” Dmitri sighs. “What about that woman you recently sent upstairs. Maria, was it?”

            “Why are you so eager to get rid of me?”

            “I just don’t think you’d fully understand the content of the conversation I wish to have with Natasha.”

            “And a different agent would?”

            “A different agent would not be so personally invested.”

            “This is ridiculous…”

            “Clint, maybe you should get Maria down here,” I say softly.

            “Are you crazy?”

            “Not in the clinical sense,” I shrug. “Honestly, what’s the harm?”

            “Ugh. _Fine_. But I’ll be on the other side of that mirror, so if anything happens that I don’t like, I’ll be back in here in no time.”

            “I guess if that’s the best I’m going to get, I’ll take it,” Dmitri smiles. He waits patiently for Clint to make the call upstairs. Maria walks through the door about a minute later, and Clint very reluctantly leaves.

            “So Natasha. You said you had some nightmares. Tell me, was I in any of them?” Dmitri’s eyes are earnest, yet excited.

            “A-a few,” I stammer, caught off guard.

            “Excellent. Now, in these dreams, was there anything between us? A particular feeling, perhaps?”

            “Other than mutual hatred? No,” I reply bluntly.

            “Oh.” His face falls, as if he had been anticipating a different answer. “Are you sure?”

            “Positive. Did you really think it was possible for me to fall in love with you?” I sneer.

            “I guess I underestimated your willpower…”

            “Yeah you did. And the fact that _I love my husband_. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss with me, or can I leave now?”

            “I suppose you can go…”

            I stand and head for the door, proud of myself for not losing my temper again. As soon as I grab the door handle, however, Dmitri speaks up again.

            “So… How much time have I bought myself?” he asks quietly.

            “I suppose that’s ultimately up to Nick. But I’m guessing only a few hours.” And with that, I leave, not even bothering to look back at his surely stunned face. “How’d I do?” I ask Clint.

            “You were wonderful,” he grins, wrapping me in his arms. “Absolutely fantastic. Do you want to help us put him back in his cell?”

            “I suppose so. Someone else should probably handle the needle, though.”

            “Agreed. You probably shouldn’t be let near him with anything sharp just yet.”

            “Oh, I don’t even need a sharp object to take care of him.”

            “I know, babe,” Clint laughs. “Come on, let’s finish this so we can go get lunch. I’m _starving_.”

            “You know, there are children in Africa who are _actually_ starving,” I tease.

            “Yeah, yeah. All I know is I haven’t eaten in like five hours, and I need food to live.”

            “Fair point. Let’s get this over with.”

            Maria gives Dmitri another dose of our patented short-term knockout drug, and we carefully unchain him. Not terribly concerned with his physical well-being, we essentially drag him back to his cell. We lock up, then take a well-deserved lunch break.

            When we get back, Clint and I are immediately ushered into Nick’s office. His computer is facing us, a man I don’t know on the screen.

            “Romanoff, Barton, this is Dr. Yuri Grekov, one of Russia’s leading scientists,” Nick says. “He’s had some experience analyzing sedatives and is probably the most familiar with this concoction.”

            “Well, as familiar as any third-party can be,” Yuri nods grimly. “Director Fury has filled me in on the most important details from this case, but I would prefer to hear your symptoms from you.”

            “Do you think you’ll be able to help us?” I take a few steps towards the screen.

            “That depends on how advanced your symptoms are. Before a certain point, it is possible to completely cure the side effects. After that point, however, it’s much trickier. Some recovery can be made, but it is likely that permanent damage has occurred.”

            “What… what is the cutoff?” I ask nervously. I feel Clint entwine his fingers with mine, giving me a reassuring squeeze.

            “Since everyone exhibits slightly different symptoms, I cannot tell you for sure right now. If you mention anything that fits the criteria, I will let you know.”

            “Okay.” I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat and squeeze Clint’s hand before continuing. “It all started with muscle weakness and disorientation. It quickly progressed to incredibly vivid nightmares, targeting my deepest, darkest fears.”

            “That is because one of the ingredients stimulates your amygdala, which is the emotion and memory center of your brain. What else have you experienced?”

            “We got back home last night, and in my sleep, I started attacking Clint. Show him, honey.” He lifts his shirt, revealing the bruises.

            “Oh my. That’s certainly new.”

            “You’ve never seen this before?” I ask worriedly.

            “I have heard of a few people attacking objects, or occasionally themselves, but never another person.”

            “I scratched my face up quite a bit when I could no longer reach him. Why do you think I would hurt my husband in my sleep?”

            “It might have something to do with your background. Now, I understand that most of the details are classified, so I’m just looking for a yes or no answer. You have a hard time trusting people, don’t you?”

            I nod slowly.

            “Were you trained to shoot first, ask questions later?”

            I nod again.

            “And your body is your greatest weapon, is it not?”

            “It is.”

            “There you have it. Your unconscious brain used everything it has been taught throughout your life to make a fight-or-flight decision for you. While there may have been other feelings, such as love, conflicting with that decision, it was made nonetheless. Is there anything else?”

            “A short temper?”

            “She means shorter than usual,” Nick growls from behind me. I resist the urge to glare at him.

            “And that is it? No other symptoms?” Yuri asks.

            “Not that I’ve noticed. Did I reach the point of no return?”

            “In my professional opinion, no. Now, I must warn you not to get your hopes up too high; just because you did not reach that point does not mean you are guaranteed to be 100% cured. With your background, you are what we would consider ‘at risk’ for at least some permanent damage. The chances are not high, but they are there. Do you understand?”

            “Yes,” I say, my voice unsteady.

            “Good. I will send my list of substances that will counteract the ones you have been given as soon as we are done with this call. With any luck, you’ll make a full recovery.”

            “Thank you so much. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

            “Be happy,” Yuri smiles. “Get rid of the scum that disrupted your life. And maybe someday, come back to take care of the secret society Dmitri knows so little about.”

            “We’ll do our best. And if I am unable to go back, I promise I will send the next best agents to figure it out.”

            “I’m sure you will. Take care.” The screen goes black as Yuri ends the video call. Clint pulls me closer, relief shining in his eyes. I can’t help but grin back before I kiss him, my arms curling around his neck. He’s slightly tense at first, since I took him by surprise, but he quickly relaxes and puts his hands on my waist. I suddenly remember Nick is in the room and slowly pull back.

            “Sorry, boss,” I smile sheepishly.

            “I should be used to it by now,” he grumbles as he makes his way back to his desk. “Go celebrate. I’ll call you when we have an antidote.”

            Not needing to be told twice, Clint and I practically sprint to the parking garage. We pause next to our car, out of breath from both the physical exertion and elation.

            “Where should we go?” I pant.

            “A bar? I think a toast is in order.”

            “Sweet, but I probably shouldn’t drink. You know, just in case alcohol messes with something in the cure.”

            “Okay, how ‘bout we throw a party at Avengers Tower?”

            “Let’s save that for after Dmitri’s dead. You know what I really want to do? Curl up on the couch and watch a movie with the love of my life.”

            “Sounds good to me!”

            We’re an hour into the second _Back to the Future_ movie when my phone rings. I scramble to find the remote and fail to pick up the call in time in the process.

            “Fuck. Who was it?” I ask Clint, who’s closer to the coffee table.

            “Nick,” he says, glancing down at my phone’s screen. “Great. Now he’ll think we’re… _up to something._ ”

            “You know you’re a huge dork, right?”

            “Yes, but I’m _your_ huge dork. And this coming from the girl who regularly quotes sci-fi movies!”

            “Silence, Earthling! My name is Darth Vader! I am an extraterrestrial from the planet Vulcan!” I’m amazed I manage to say the whole thing before my words dissolve into fits of laughter.

            “See! This is _exactly_ what I’m talking about! And let’s be honest, that _Harry Potter_ reference was perfect.”

            “Okay, it was pretty good. I wouldn’t go so far as to say perfect, but I’ll admit it fit the situation. Speaking of, I should call Nick back.” I dial quickly, hoping for good news.

            “Having trouble answering your phone?” Nick growls as soon as he picks up my call.

            “Sorry. Clint and I were watching a movie and I didn’t get to my phone fast enough. What’s up?”

            “It may take a while to procure all the necessary ingredients, so you two most likely won’t have to come back for a few days.”

            “Okay. Anything else?”

            “Hey Nat! I found your bra! You must have tossed it over the lamp earlier!” Clint says loudly into the phone.

            “Watching a movie, huh?” Nick chuckles awkwardly.

            “Clint, I swear to God I will kill you,” I hiss.

            “Hold on, Romanoff.” A muffled conversation comes out of my phone. It sounds as if Simmons has some news for Nick. Her speech is quick and a slightly higher pitch than usual, so she’s obviously excited about something. “Still there?”

            “Yeah. What did Jemma want?”

            “It turns out the scientists have been able to start developing one part of the antidote, which you can come get in an hour or two, if you would like.”

            “What’s it do?”

            “It’s supposed to fix the muscle weakness. Want me to let you know when it’s done?”

            “Sure. Might as well get rid of symptoms as soon as cures are available.”

            “Sounds good. I’ll call when it’s ready.”

            After hanging up, Clint and I resume our _Back to the Future_ marathon. We’re actually able to make it to the end of the third one before we hear from Nick again. We hop in the car and go to get part one of my cure. A petite blonde RN injects the serum into my shoulder and places a band-aid over the injection site. I look down and notice the band-aid is decorated with little spiders. I wonder which of my idiot friends put her up to it. Probably Bucky. I jump down from the exam table, already feeling a little stronger.

            “Someone get me a punching bag,” I say, positioning my body in a fighter’s stance.

            “It’ll take a few hours for you to feel the full effects,” Nick chuckles from the doorway. “You should probably rest for a few days before going back to your insane workout routine.”

            “Aww, come on. I just wanna blow off a little steam!”

            “I’m revoking your access to the training facilities here. AND the ones in Avengers Tower.”

            “You can’t lock me out of my own training room!” I pout.

            “Watch me. I think you’re forgetting which of us has higher clearance.”

            “You win by one fucking level…” I grumble.

            “Come on, Nat. Let’s go watch _Star Wars_ or something.” Clint tries to pull me toward the door.

            “Fine. But I’ll only stay out of the workout rooms for 24 hours. After that, I want full access again.”

            “Deal. Go home, Romanoff.” Nick backs out of the doorway and returns to his office.

            “Why do I have to listen to him again?”

            “Because he’s the boss. I know, I don’t always like it, either. But he’s right, Nat. You need to take some time off and just relax.”

            “I _hate_ being useless.”

            “You’re not useless, you’re recuperating.”

            “Same thing… Fine, let’s go home and watch _Star Wars_. We can make fun of Jar Jar Binks; that usually makes me feel better.”

            “Wanna start with Episode I, then?”

            “Hell no. It’s absolutely mandatory to start with Episode IV. A New Hope is where it originally started.”

            “Just checking. It’ll take us a while to get to Jar Jar, then.”

            “That’s okay. We can enjoy the brilliance of the original trilogy first. And that _amazing_ soundtrack.”

            “Sounds good. Let’s head home, then.”

            We leave headquarters, my mood and strength gradually improving. Full recovery will obviously take quite a while, but I’m gonna make the most of everything I get back as soon as possible. As much as I love _Star Wars_ , I would rather be pushing the limits of my physical abilities. Some of my friends don’t fully understand my need to punch things all the time. I know I have a temper that I should work on reining in more, but sometimes, letting all my anger and frustration out on an inanimate object just feels so goddamn good. And it’s so much better than taking it out on people close to me, which I have done too many times.

            “You’re awful quiet there, Nat.”

            “I’m just thinking. Do you suppose Nick meant 24 hours after the deal was struck, or 24 hours after he gives the official order?”

            “I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow. Let’s just enjoy our time off. With all that’s happened lately, I feel like we haven’t really had much quality time together.”

            “We haven’t. I’m sorry. This is on me.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “You all tried to convince me to stay home, to let someone else take on this mission, but I was stubborn and refused to listen.”

            “Hey. Stop. Looking back, any other agent probably wouldn’t have made it out of Russia with the bad guy in handcuffs. What you do is absolutely incredible and I couldn’t be prouder of you. You may be stubborn, but that’s one of the things I love about you; you stand up for what you believe in and are always willing to help wherever you can. You’re amazing—don’t you ever forget that.”

            “You’re honestly the best husband anyone could ask for.” I run my hand through his hair, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I love you.”

            “I know,” he half-laughs.

            “Did you seriously just freaking Han Solo me?”

            “Maybe,” he smirks, looking away from the road for a second to catch sight of my expression and determine how angry I am. “I know, and I love you, too. You need to let me finish my sentences, Nat.”

            “Yeah, whatever. You’re just trying to save yourself at this point.” I’m not actually mad, of course, but I feign anger to see if Clint will catch on or keep believing the lie. It’s a little game I like to play occasionally to see how well he can read my true emotions.

            “Whatever is right. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re angry. Either that, or your poker face is getting worse.”

            “I’m gonna go with the former. My acting skills are still as good as they ever were.”

            “I’m sure they are—they just don’t seem to work with me.”

            “And I’m okay with that. I don’t really enjoy keeping things from you anyway.” I fight down a burst of nervous laughter, afraid of giving away the truth; I’ve been hiding something for a while now, unable to tell anyone. I need more proof it’s real, first.


	20. Chapter 20

            I’ll admit it’s not the greatest idea we’ve ever had, but Clint and I stay up late to finish the original trilogy. I’m not even sure what time it is when we finally crawl into bed, physically drained. At about 5 a.m., I wake to find Clint’s side of the bed empty. The door to the bathroom is ajar, but no light spills out. Where the hell did he go?

            I walk downstairs and find his pillow and a blanket on the couch. The cushions are no longer warm, so he either just came down here or came down earlier and has been awake for a while. Judging by the way the blanket is draped across the back of the couch, I’d guess the former.

            “Nat? Sorry, did I wake you?”

            “No, I just noticed you were gone and came down to see what’s going on.” As I turn, I notice the bandages. The tissue shoved up his left nostril, slightly red at the top. The split lip and faintly blackened eye. “I… I… I’m a monster! How can you stand to be around me when I do things like this to you?”

            “It’s better if you hurt me rather than yourself. This probably isn’t what you want to hear, but you’re in a very fragile state right now, and I wouldn’t be able to handle it if anything happened to you. I know this is caused by whatever Dmitri drugged you with, not out of hate. I can handle the pain. I was actually just about to head back upstairs.”

            “No. No, no, no, no, no. Find a strait jacket and chain me to a wall or something because there is no way I’m letting myself lay a hand on you again. Until an antidote is ready, I can’t be trusted.” I cross my arms and take a few steps back, putting a bit more distance between the two of us.

            “Nat, I’m okay. I swear. Can we please not fight about this? I know you’re upset, but I’m not. For better or for worse, remember? This is one of your lowest points I have ever seen, and I’m here for you. I won’t let you push me away because you’re concerned for my safety. If I have to suffer a bit to keep you from attacking yourself, then so be it. Nothing you say will change my mind.”

            “I’m dangerous. I once killed a man with just one finger.”

            “I know you did,” he replies calmly.

            “I’m incredibly strong. You can’t overpower me.”

            “I know that, too.”

            “I’m a professional assassin, currently keeping myriad secrets. Including many you are unaware of.”

            “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? I’m your _husband_. I know all of this. And I’m okay with you having things you don’t feel like sharing with me; you’re entitled to your privacy. And I’m still not changing my mind. I don’t care how long it takes to fix this—I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

            “I’m afraid that may come sooner than originally anticipated,” I whisper, tears welling up in my eyes.

            “Nat, don’t talk like that.” Clint quickly closes the gap between us and wraps his arms around me. The strength and warmth of his embrace comforts me as I give in. I understand there’s nothing I can do to prevent him from doing everything he can to protect me, so I have no choice but to accept the situation at hand. “We’ll get through this. Let’s go back to bed.”

            “Are you absolutely sure you want to do that?”

            “Of course I am.” He slowly loosens his grip, allowing me to step back again. I glance down at his pillow and back up to his face. It appears the blood has dried, but the slight kink in his nose tells me it’ll need to be set before we go to sleep.

            “Hold on. I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt.” Using both hands, I expertly shift his nose back into place. Clint winces slightly, but a wide grin quickly replaces the grimace.

            “It’s things like this that I really need you for,” he laughs.

            “If it wasn’t for me, your nose wouldn’t have needed to be set.”

            “This time, maybe. But, as you know, I’m a walking disaster. I’ll always need you to help me put myself back together. Now come on, the sun’ll be up soon, so we should get some rest while we still can. Nick may call with news or another part of the cure!”

            “You’re right,” I sigh. “I guess I’m overreacting again.”

            “Maybe a little bit,” Clint teases. I playfully elbow him in the ribs on my way to the stairs. My intuition tells me I shouldn’t be allowing Clint to follow me back to our bedroom, especially with my strength returning, but it’s too late; the battle has already been lost. I pray to a God I no longer believe in that I don’t hurt Clint anymore. Losing him would destroy me.

            I don’t want to insinuate that my entire world would stop if Clint were to die, but when you marry someone, the two of you become one. The vows we share are important to us, and we try to uphold our promises to the best of our abilities every day. No matter what happens, I will continue to love him for the rest of my life. Not even brainwash has been able to fully suppress the bond we share. When someone that close to you dies, it feels as if a piece of you dies along with them.

            I’ve already been widowed once. It was an arranged marriage, but that doesn’t mean I never had feelings for Alexi. The day I was told of his death is still a vivid memory; a soldier knocked on my door to present me with a flag. He didn’t get a single word out before I slammed the door in his face. Back up against the wall, my knees gave out and I slid to the floor. _Impossible. Alexi had to be okay. He’ll be back from his trip any day now. He can’t be dead. He just_ can’t _be dead. This is a bad dream. I’ll wake up any second to find him in bed next to me, sleeping soundly._ The persistent knocking on the door behind me caused me to come crashing back to reality. It’s true. He’s gone.

            The rocket he was piloting had exploded. I was told there was no mistake, that they were certain it was him. Since there was no body, I buried an empty casket. Well, not entirely empty—I laid a dozen blood-red roses on the pillow next to a picture from our wedding. The minister was the only other person to witness the burial. After the funeral, I went back to my training, determined to become a black widow.

            Imagine my surprise when I discovered he wasn’t actually dead. My grief turned to rage, and I lashed out at everything and everyone I could. I have always hated being lied to, but this lie was unforgivable. Alexi tried to explain the reasoning behind faking his death, but I couldn’t listen. Nothing could fix the damage he had done. When he died again, I was certain it was for good. Finally, I could move on with my life. But once again, I was deceived.

            Many times throughout the years, Alexi and I have been reunited, though we are always on opposing sides. Each encounter ends the same: Alexi dies, and I am almost swallowed whole by grief. The last time I saw him, I was on a simple mission to take down Sin. It was an easy enough task that I was allowed to bring Jenna and Erin along. Unfortunately, Sin brought back up. Suddenly, I was trying to hold my own against Red Guardian while Erin and Jenna tried to keep Sin from killing them. When I discovered I was fighting Alexi, I lost it again. In a matter of minutes, everything had gone to hell. Erin lay on the floor, nearly unconscious from blood loss, a gaping hole in her leg. Jenna hid the best she could as she frantically called Steve to come save us. And then there was me. Even though this wasn’t the first time I’d fought Alexi, it was the first time I had fought him one-on-one. I expected him to take whatever shots he could get. But he didn’t. The only moves he made were defensive.

            The fact that he didn’t want to hurt me threw me off. I tried to channel all the anger I’ve buried deep within myself, to show Alexi how much he’s hurt me, but it was no use. I was incapable of actually harming him. My mind shut down, and I became utterly useless. By the time the guys arrived, I was curled up on the floor, half screaming, half crying. Jenna had somehow managed to protect us while we waited, and I’m eternally grateful for that. Steve quickly took care of Sin and Red Guardian while Bucky attended to Erin’s wound and Clint got me the hell out of there.

            I’m not sure what happened next, but I’m not sure I want to know. Alexi may have made it out alive somehow. Clint won’t let anyone tell me what happened, and I guess I’m okay with that. What good would it do to hear he’s dead if it might not be true? I don’t think I’ll ever be sure he’s actually gone unless I watch the life leave his body. For all intents and purposes, however, he’s dead to me. I’ve moved on, and I’m so glad I did. If I had let my doubts consume me, I never would have married Clint. Which brings me back to the present situation: will we survive this?


	21. Chapter 21

            _Oh God._ I jolt upright in bed, my stomach churning dangerously. I barely make it into the bathroom before I start to vomit. _What the hell did they give me yesterday?_ Whatever it was, it’s certainly not agreeing with me. Wave after wave of nausea hits me until I’ve lost all the contents of my stomach. Clint, normally a heavy sleeper, stumbles into the bathroom yawning loudly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

            “Nat? Is everything okay?” His voice is rough, guttural.

            “I think…some…thing’s wrong,” I pant, slowly reclining myself against the bathtub. The cool porcelain feels good on my skin.

            “Dear God. Is it a reaction to whatever they gave you?” he asks, panicked.

            “Prob—” I dry heave, my words choked off. “—ably,” I mumble quietly, clutching my sides.

            “I’ll call Nick. Or Simmons. You know what? I’ll just call them both.” He dashes out of the bathroom to search for his phone. His muffled conversation carries through the walls. In a matter of minutes, he’s back. “Jemma said to bring you in for further testing. Can you stand?”

            “Maybe?” My hands find the edge of the bathtub and I do my best to pull myself up. My elbows give partway up, and I’m back on the floor.

            “Nat!” Clint rushes to my side. “It’s okay. I can carry you. Let me grab you a sweater or something to put on over your nightgown and we can head out. Do you think you’re gonna puke again?”

            I shake my head weakly. “There’s nothing left to come up.”

            “Good. Okay. I’ll be right back.” After he returns with a light jacket, he gingerly scoops me up into his arms and carries me to the car. He speeds to headquarters, carefully watching me the whole way there to make sure I’m okay. Jemma meets us at the door with a gurney.

            “Guys, this is unnecessary,” I complain feebly. “I’ll be fine.”

            “It’s probably best if you don’t try to speak Agent Romanoff. We’ll figure out what’s wrong and fix it as quickly as we can,” Jemma shushes me.

            “It’s okay. Everything will be okay.” Clint squeezes my hand and forces a strained smile. I close my eyes and think through the situation. Up until this morning, I felt fine. My strength was returning, I had a bit more energy, and I was excited to get back to “normal.” Now, I feel worse than ever, apparently rejecting whatever was given to me.

            The nurse from yesterday draws some blood and Simmons races off to the lab to analyze it. They start me on an IV drip to replenish some of the fluids I lost. We wait in anxious silence.

            In a normal facility, it could take hours or even days to figure out what’s wrong. Luckily, our labs are filled with incredibly advanced Stark tech, so we can get answers in a fraction of the time; Jemma returns in just under 30 minutes. She stands awkwardly at the foot of the hospital bed, looking back and forth between Clint and me.

            “What is it? What’s wrong?” Clint stands, impatient as always.

            “Agent Romanoff, there is something I request to speak to you alone about,” she responds softly. “Agent Barton, can you please excuse us?”

            “For God’s sake, Jemma, she’s my wife.”

            “I’m afraid I must insist.”

            “Nat, can you believe this?”

            “Two minutes. Please.” My voice is weaker than I had hoped, but it does the trick; Clint dejectedly slumps out of the room. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

            “Well, I noticed some irregular proteins in your blood. Not _irregular_ irregular, but more like unexpected, I guess. I thought there had been some mistake, so I ran it again. Same results. I don’t know how to say this. You might—”

            “Jemma,” I cut her off. “Please, not another word about that.”

            “You know? Does anyone else?”

            “No. At least, not yet. Now is not the time to deal with it. Did my body reject the antidote?”

            “Not completely. Healing is going to be a slow process, so you should give it a few more days to fully kick in before you worry about it not working.”

            “So was this caused by the cure? Will it happen again?”

            “It’s hard to be sure. With your condition, it may be unrelated to the serum. But without further tests…”

            “Forget it. You know nothing about it. Understand?” I narrow my eyes, anger making my voice stronger.

            “Are you sure you—”

            “Simmons. Do. You. Understand?”

            “Yes. Not a word, Agent Romanoff.”

            “Good. Go get my husband and then leave us.”

            “Yes ma’am.” Jemma scurries out of the room. Within seconds, Clint is back at my side.

            “What is it? Are you going to be okay? Why did I have to leave the room? You know I don’t like it when you hide health issues from me.”

            “I’m fine. I’m supposed to wait a few more days for the antidote to fully work. If I’m not feeling better, Jemma wants me to come back in.”

            “What else did she tell you? Surely that can’t be what you didn’t want me to hear.”

            “Everything’s fine. There was a little bit of confusion about the blood sample they took, but I cleared it up. We didn’t want you to worry about something that turned out to be nothing.”

            “What was wrong with the blood sample?”

            “Nothing was necessarily _wrong_ with it, it just didn’t exactly match up with their records.”

            “What? Did you change your medical history again?”

            “I might’ve…”

            “Nat, you have to stop doing that!”

            “I know, I know. It’s been corrected.”

            “Good. How are you feeling?”

            “Better. The nurse should be back soon to remove the IV, then we can head out.”

            “You’re not gonna rip it out yourself?” Clint teases.

            “Oh, ha ha. I’m reckless and have no regard for my own health.” I roll my eyes. “You’re just as bad as I am.”

            “Am not!”

            “Wanna bet, walking disaster?” I smirk.

            “I at least let you know when something’s wrong.”

            “Ooh, low blow,” I wince. “I’m totally blaming my upbringing for that. Complainers disappeared.”

            “Yikes. Okay, let’s call it a tie; we’re both obnoxiously reckless, just in our own ways.”

            “Sounds about right,” I grin. Just then, the nurse returns to release me. Walking’s still somewhat difficult, so I lean on Clint as we make our way back to the car. The drive home is quiet, an unexpected bit of tension in the air. Fuck. I think Clint knows I’ve been lying to him.

            “You trust me, don’t you?” he asks suddenly.

            “With my life. Where is this coming from?”

            “I know I’m a worrier, but I feel like you’re keeping something important from me. You’ve been way more secretive than usual.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this because of what happened with Jemma at the hospital? Because I already explained—”

            “This is because of a lot of things! And before you try to blame it on this mission, don’t. This started before you even got the call from Nick. Nat, what aren’t you telling me?”

            “I—” I falter, unsure how to answer. “Okay. My life is a mess. I’m tired. God, am I tired. We took down eight fucking burglars in our home last month alone. I don’t think I was ready mentally or even physically for my trip to Russia, and I’ve gotten really sick of arguing with people. Do you know how many times a day I have to yell at either a perp or a coworker? Because I’ve lost count. I’m not as healthy as I want you to believe—you know I hate showing weakness. I don’t exactly feel like a superhero right now.”

            “Nat, you can’t just keep all of this bottled up! If you didn’t think you were ready, why didn’t you have Nick send someone else to Russia?”

            “Because I’m stubborn…”

            “You’re damn right you are. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

            “Yeah… I don’t really have a good excuse for my secrecy.”

            “Next time something’s bothering you, will you please tell me about it? I hate fighting with you.”

            “I promise. We make a better team than we do enemies. Not that we could ever truly be enemies.”

            “Of course not. You love me too much,” Clint chuckles.

            “Yeah, ‘cuz this is totally a one-sided relationship,” I laugh.

            “You know it!’

            It’s almost 9 by the time we get home, and after the morning I’ve had so far, I decide it’s for the best if I go back to bed. Always willing to sleep, Clint joins me. Since I didn’t hurt him in the last few hours we slept this morning, I cautiously let him.

            The doorbell rings at noon, wrenching me from my nap. Clint snores softly beside me. Curious, I pull a robe on over my nightgown and head downstairs. I open the door a crack to see who it is, then throw it open, a grin spreading across my face.

            “Jenna! Steve! What are you guys doing here?”

            “Well, it’s been a couple days and we wanted to see how you two are doing,” Jenna smiles. “Did we wake you?”

            “Actually, yeah. It’s been a rough week,” I shrug.

            “Must be for you to sleep this late. Clint still sleeping?”

            “Like a baby. I’ll go wake him and throw on some clothes. Feel free to make yourselves comfortable.” I usher them into the living room before sprinting up the stairs. “Clint? Honey, you need to get up. We have guests.” He mumbles something incoherent before rolling over, still sound asleep. “Clint. Steve and Jenna are here. Get up.” I give him a shove, but it’s like trying to wake a coma patient.

            Thinking quickly, I blast music from my phone, hoping the noise will help. He stirs slightly, but still doesn’t wake up. Annoyed, I turn it off and start toward my closet.

            “Hey, I was listening to that!” Clint grumbles, slowly sitting up.

            “Welcome back to the land of the living,” I joke.

            “What time is it?”

            “Noon. Steve and Jenna are downstairs. Hurry up and get dressed. You know I hate to keep them waiting.”

            “Yeah, yeah. Coming.”

            We put on clothes as quickly as possible and go down to see our friends. They start to speak, but both fall silent at the sight of Clint.

            “What the hell happened to you?” Jenna gasps.

            “You were perfectly fine when you got off the plane. How did you get so beat up?” Steve asks.

            “Nat? Do you want to explain or should I?” Clint turns to me.

            “I got this,” I sigh. “I’ve been experiencing some, uh, severe side effects ever since I was taken captive. It seems my subconscious has been making me attack Clint while we sleep.”

            “Why don’t you sleep in separate places, then?” Jenna asks.

            “We tried that,” Clint says. “She ended up hurting herself.”

            “Damn. Are you guys okay?”

            “We’ll be fine.”

            “That’s not what I asked. We’re your friends. You can tell us anything.”

            “Aside from an emergency trip to the lab this morning, we’re fine. Actually, I don’t think any of those injuries are new, so I might’ve stopped sleep-fighting.” I force a small smile.

            “Back up. What happened this morning?” Jenna inquires.

            We fill them in on everything important that they’ve missed, including some details about the mission they didn’t know. Steve attempts to chastise me several times throughout the story, but I talk over him. I know we didn’t make the smartest decisions, but we did our best. I have a feeling Steve’s going to be upset with us for quite a while because of how often we almost died, which won’t be pleasant for anyone. He’ll have to get over it eventually. When we finish, a stunned silence hangs in the air.

            “You guys are most definitely _not_ okay,” Jenna whispers.

            “We’re getting there,” I sigh. “I’m having fewer symptoms, which is fantastic, and I’ll hopefully make a full recovery.”

            “What about the secret society? Please tell me you’re not planning on going back to take care of that,” Steve says sternly.

            “Actually—”

            “No. **No.** you almost died over there! I don’t care if you already told Nick yes. You. Are. Not. Going.”

            “Steve, you may be a leader of our team, but you can’t tell me what to do! You should know that by now!”

            “Clint, are you listening to this?!”

            “Nat’s her own woman,” he shrugs. “I can ask her to stay, but I can’t stop her from going.”

            “Natasha, this is ridiculous. It’s a bad idea.”

            “I already promised the scientist that’s developing my cure that I would take care of it. There’s no walking away from this.” I cross my arms, trying to look stronger than I feel.

            “If one man could cause this much damage, think about what will happen if you take on a whole group of them!”

            “Steve, honey,” Jenna firmly places a hand on his shoulder, “let it go.”

            “Aren’t you concerned for her safety?”

            “Of course I am, but I know I can’t change her mind. All I can do is hope she’ll be safe.”

            “Am I seriously the only one opposed to this?

            “This is almost the same exact conversation we had before I left the first time,” I grumble.

            “And look how that turned out!” Steve bellows.

            “Okay, you may have a point, but I can’t promise you I won’t go.”

            “Will you at least think about taking my advice for once?”

            “Fine,” I sigh despondently.

            “If you two are done bickering, we should go.” Jenna stands abruptly. “I want to check on Erin and Bucky today, too.”

            “Will you tell Bucky to get checked out by Jemma and the nurses? I doubt he has, and if he’s been having symptoms like I have, he really should go in. They can start him on the cure,” I suggest.

            “He’s almost as stubborn as you are, but hopefully if he hears you went in, he’ll consider it,” Steve shrugs.

            “Erin will probably make him,” Jenna nods. “Well, I’m so glad you’re starting to feel better! Make sure you keep us in the loop on everything, and we’ll be sure to let you guys know how Bucky’s doing.”

            “Of course! Thanks for stopping by!” I smile as I stand to walk them to the door. Steve is still giving me a disapproving look as they pull out of the driveway. Clint notices and starts chuckling. “What’s so funny?”

            “It’s hilarious that he still thinks he can control you.”

            “More like annoying as fuck. I swear, every conversation goes the same way, regardless of the situation! I’m _always_ planning on doing something he doesn’t approve of, and I never hear the end of it!”

            “At least Jenna can call him out on his crap.”

            “Ugh. He’s such a fossil, acting like he’s in charge and thinking that you’re the boss of me!”

            “Every time he brings it up I try to make it evident that you won’t listen to me, either.”

            “You’re damn right I won’t,” I grumble. “I am a strong, independent woman—”

            “I know, Nat,” Clint interrupts. “Can we just drop this and make some lunch? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

            “What? Oh, yeah, sure,” I mumble, still a little lost in my argument.


	22. Chapter 22

            The next several days are pretty uneventful. I go back in to headquarters for more of my cure, and my health gradually improves. By Friday, I’ve had all but 2 doses; some of the ingredients are proving harder to procure than others. Clint’s bruises are healing up nicely, now a dull yellow-green instead of purple. Life is finally getting back to normal when Nick calls.

            “What’s up, boss?” I ask as I answer the phone.

            “It’s time.”

            “…For what? Come on, Nick, I need a bit more than that.”

            “The last 3 ingredients are currently on their way here from private sellers. The final steps of your healing process will be completed in the next 24 hours. It’s time to take care of Dmitri.”

            “Finally! Man, it’s been almost a week since we caught him!”

            “Just remember that doesn’t mean we’re finished with this case. There’s still a lot of work to be done.”

            “I know, I know. Paperwork, properly disposing of the body, and dealing with the secret society are near the top of my to-do list.”

            “ _Near_ the top? Natasha, these things should be your main priorities.”

            “Right now, my number one priority is getting better, both physically and mentally. I’m sorry if filling out stupid reports—which, can honestly wait a few days—is less important than my health. Actually, about the secret society, I was thinking about it and—”

            “You talked to Rogers, didn’t you?”

            “Yes, _but_ that conversation is not the whole reason I’m reconsidering going.”

            Nick sighs heavily. “We can discuss this later. I need you to come in as soon as possible, unless you want to give up the responsibility of killing this motherfucker.”

            “No way in hell. I’ll be there in about 10 minutes.” In typical Nick fashion, he ends the call without saying anything. “Clint! We have to go! I finally get to kill Dmitri!”

            “Really? What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” He jumps up off the couch and heads for the door. I follow close behind as we grab our shoes and hop in the car. My heart races faster and faster the closer we get to headquarters, elation and relief washing over me. Dmitri has been a thorn in my side for far too long. Clint has barely put the car in park before I’m up and running to the stairs.

            “Nat! Hold on!” He fumbles with his seatbelt, eager to follow me inside. Halfway to the elevator, he drops his keys as he tries to slip them into his pocket. I pause for a second, but, unable to hold myself back, I start sprinting down the stairs; if I take the elevator, I’ll have to wait for Clint, and the sooner Dmitri stops breathing, the better. In no time at all, I descend the six flights of stairs to subfloor G and find Nick pacing the hallway.

            “Romanoff! About time you got here!”

            “I told you 10 minutes, and it’s been,” I glance at my watch, “only 8! You do realize I’m obligated to follow traffic laws when I’m not working, right?” I scowl.

            “Where’s Clint?” he huffs. “I assumed you’d bring him.”

            “I’m right here!” Clint calls, stepping out of the elevator. “Nat was too excited to wait for me. Shall we get this show on the road?”

            “PLEASE,” I nod, glancing back and forth between Nick and the containment room.

            “Of course,” Nick says. “I took the liberty of knocking him out so we can transfer him to one of our execution chambers.”

            “Since when do we have execution chambers?” I ask.

            “They just finished construction a few days ago. Of course, the true purpose of the rooms is classified, so don’t go blabbing about it to your coworkers.” He narrows his eye.

            “Nick, you’re talking to two of your best secret agents who, might I add, have very high clearance and know how to keep their fucking mouths shut,” I roll my eyes.

            “Just making sure you understand the situation. Let’s go.”

            We open the containment room and drag Dmitri down the hall to a door with a newly installed retinal scanner and keypad.

            “Wasn’t this the janitor’s closet?” Clint asks.

            “Yeah, that’s at the other end of the hall now. This was a more convenient location,” Nick replies. He lifts his eyepatch so the scanner can read his scarred eye, then quickly types in a password. The lock clicks open, and we enter the newly remodeled space. To our right is what appears to be a viewing area set up across from a chamber. What I’m guessing is bullet-proof glass separates the seating from the small room. To the left are more clusters of chambers, though none of the ones I can see have places for people to sit and watch. Everything seems to be in varying shades of dull gray.

            “Cheerful,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

            “It’s a place for people to come to die—it’s not supposed to be cheerful,” Nick growls back. “It’s a state-of-the-art facility, and you get to have the first kill; you should be a bit more grateful.”

            “Sorry boss. I’ve been looking forward to this day for quite a while now, and I guess I’m not entirely sure I want it to be over.”

            “Are you saying you don’t want to do it?” Nick asks, shocked.

            “Not at all! I want to savor the moment. In a non-sadistic way, of course,” I add quickly.

            “Well, he’s bound to wake up soon, so we need to keep moving. Let’s throw him in the chamber to your left there.” We drag the unconscious Dmitri into the small chamber, laying him down next to the drain in the floor. Nick hooks his chains into a small metal ring stuck in the cement next to the drain. “Well, Natasha, this one is all yours. How are you going to do it?”

            “After all he’s put me through, I want to see the life leave his eyes, so I’m thinking strangulation. Painful, but not terribly messy.”

            “Don’t feel like testing out the drain today?”

            “Maybe next time. I’m not in the mood to wash blood out of my clothes.”

            “Where… where am I?” Dmitri croaks, lifting his head slightly.

            “Thank you for purchasing a one-way ticket to Hell. First stop, my foot in your face,” I snarl as I deliver a sharp kick to his nose. He falls back to the ground, moaning in pain. “This is where you die, you pathetic excuse for a human being. But first, tell me, what did you do with my necklace?”

            “Your… _what?_ ”

            “My fucking necklace, you piece of shit!”

            “I don’t remember you having a necklace.”

            “Maybe this’ll jog your memory.” I kick him in the stomach, causing him to curl up in the fetal position.

            “What… did it… look like?” Dmitri pants.

            “It had a little silver arrow on it.”

            “Why is it… so important… to you?”

            “Because it was a motherfucking gift from my husband!”

            “It might be… with my other keepsakes.”

            “Where, douchebag?” I growl.

            “A storage locker. If I give you the information, will you let me live longer?” he pleads.

            I glance up at Nick, who subtly shakes his head. “Sure we will,” I lie. “Now tell me, where can I find this storage locker?”

            Dmitri gives us an address in Moscow along with a locker number, and we immediately dispatch a team to retrieve the contents. Surely there are other things in there the families of his victims would like to have back. We leave him chained to the floor and step into the main room, out of earshot.

            “With our new aircraft traveling at top speeds, we should hear back that they safely recovered the contents in under two hours. Until then, I have paperwork to fill out. Stay here and keep an eye on him,” Nick glances back at the chamber.

            “No problem, boss,” I nod. “I have free rein, though, right?”

            “Do whatever you please. There are some tools in the closet on the far wall. Just don’t break anything valuable.”

            “Got it. Let me know as soon as you hear anything.”

            Nick nods curtly before walking back toward the door. I notice there’s a retinal scanner and keypad on this side, too, most likely to prevent prisoners from escaping. Not that they’d get far in this building. The door thuds heavily against its frame and quickly locks itself again.

            “What now?” Clint asks.

            “Time to have some more fun.” I cross the room and unlock the closet doors; the shelves are lined with weapons beyond belief: a larger collection of knives and guns than I’ve ever seen outside of an armory, drugs and other chemicals used for torture purposes, tasers, crossbows, poisons, and God knows what else in the locked drawers. “Holy fuck. Clint, come look at this!”

            As soon as he steps inside, his jaw drops. “Why on Earth would we need this many weapons? Some of these seem highly impractical for executions.”

            “Because they’re _fun_ , dummy. Help me pick out a knife.” After careful consideration, I select one with a long curved blade and a razor-sharp tip. “Perfect.” I stroll back into the execution chamber, an evil glint in my eye. Dmitri looks up at me, his eyes searching for mercy in my expression. Finding none, he starts bitterly weeping.

            “Why, Nat?” he pleads.

            “Don’t you _dare_ call me that,” I snarl. “And you know why. It’s time for you to feel my wrath.” I run the blade of my knife across his cheek, the tip just barely slicing open his flesh. He winces slightly, his eyes downcast. Systematically, I make shallow cuts across his abdomen and arms. Every now and then, Dmitri whimpers, but aside from that, the room is quiet. I expertly slice a button off his shirt, and he suddenly starts laughing. “What’s so funny?”

            “I just remembered something I never told you before,” he chuckles.

            “And what would that be?”

            “I read your casefile. It’s amazing the amount of personal details they put in those things; like, for example, your recurring nightmare about Clint torturing and killing you. Was that one of the dreams my concoction dredged out of your subconscious?”

            “So what if it was?” I scowl.

            “That’s what I thought,” he smiles. “Surely this must be somewhat similar to that, only this time, you’re the one with the knife.”

            “Nice theory, but there are two _major_ differences: I’m doing this because I genuinely want to, no because I’m being forced to, and _I don’t love you_. I want you to die slowly, painfully, with my face being the last one you see, my cruel smile being the final thing your brain registers before it shuts down for good. So no, this is nothing like my nightmare.”

            Defeat clouds Dmitri’s eyes, his remaining options to stall me dwindling rapidly. Blood drips from his wounds, forming a small puddle beneath him. I look down at the bloodstained knife in my hand and realize I should slow down; I don’t want him to pass out from blood loss. I start for the door, but pause, my hand hovering over the handle.

            “Know this: your words have not swayed me. I will be back once some of your blood clots to seal your wounds. This break is only to ensure you remain conscious until I’m finished with you.” Without waiting to hear his response, I leave the room. Hands trembling ever so slightly, the knife clatters to the floor. Clint immediately pulls me into his arms as tears start rolling down my cheeks. “Why am I crying?” I sniffle. “Why the hell am I crying?”

            “Shh. It’s okay.” Clint strokes my hair. “Let’s just wait for Nick to get back and then you can kill Dmitri once and for all.”

            “I can’t let him think he’s won,” I reply bitterly.

            “I get that, but you can’t go back in there like this. So let’s sit down, take some deep breaths, and talk about it.” Clint guides me over to a bench up against the wall. We sit down as one, his arms still wrapped firmly around me.

            “What is wrong with me?” I whisper, my voice hoarse and cracking.

            “Hey,” Clint tilts my chin up, “nothing is wrong with you. You are absolutely perfect just the way you are. Dmitri is the one that’s completely messed up here. Unfortunately, he knows how to get into your head and screw with you. But hey, you’re learning to not let it show in front of him. I’m so proud of you.”

            “I just don’t understand how he does it. I’ve never cried so much in my life.”

            “He drugged you. Convinced you the people you love were dead. There’s no way anyone could come out of that without some sort of scar.”

            “I just wish I could put this all behind me.”

            “Soon, we can. Nick should be back any minute, and then Dmitri will die. He’ll never be able to bother us, or anyone for that matter, again.”

            We sit in silence, anxiously awaiting news from the retrieval team. After about fifteen minutes, we’re startled by the sharp clicking of the locks opening. Nick steps in, the door swiftly closing and locking itself once again.

            “I just got word from the retrieval team; all the contents of the storage locker are safely on the aircraft,” he announces.

            “And my necklace…?” I look up, hopeful.

            “On its way back to its rightful owner,” he nods. “So, now that that’s been resolved, are you ready to handle this?”

            “Well, it got a bit messier than intended after you left, but I’m ready to get rid of him for good,” I smile grimly, a dark gleam in my eye. The three of us file into the execution chamber, my hands steady once again. Dmitri’s a pitiful mess, tears streaming down his bloody face and soaking into his tattered clothes. Eager, I crouch down, my fingers wrapping around his neck. As he struggles for air, I flashback to my nightmare; all I can see is myself choking, crying for help, and I have to stop. Angry, I throw Dmitri to the ground.

            “What’s the matter, Nat? Don’t have the guts to do it?” Dmitri taunts me as he rubs his neck.

            “This isn’t right. You deserve to bleed more.” I walk back out and into the weapons closet. I pick up a semiautomatic pistol, but have a flashback to the nightmare where Clint died. Hands shaking, I drop the gun as if it were burning me, recoiling back in shock. I scream in frustration, quickly trying to think of a way to go through with this. _I would break his fucking neck, but he doesn’t deserve to die that quickly. Wait…_

            On my way back to the chamber, I pick up the knife I dropped earlier. I return to my task with a new resolve. Strategically, I shove the blade into Dmitri’s torso a few times, careful to avoid any major arteries or vital organs. I pause for a few moments to watch the blood spill out of his fresh wounds, pleased with my work.

            “Any last words, you son of a bitch?” I ask, blade in position to puncture his heart.

            “You’ll never be able to stop us,” he chuckles breathily. Before any of us can react, he grabs my hand, plunging the knife into his chest. The light in his eyes quickly fades, along with the faint trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

            “What the hell did he mean by that?” Clint asks angrily.

            “He played us. He fucking played us! He was part of the secret society all along, and now we have nothing. Our only link to it is dead. Fuck!” I rip the knife from Dmitri’s body, rage quickly filling me.

            “What the hell are they planning?” Nick muses.

            “Who the hell knows? Goddammit! This was supposed to be the end of him torturing me! You know what? I’m out. Someone else can deal with this bullshit.”

            “Romanoff! Your job is not done!”

            “Oh, but it is. You hired me to kill Dmitri, and that’s it. I sure as hell did not sign on for a secret society planning some huge, probably homicidal rampage. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going home.” I turn on my heel and head for the door.

            “You seem to be forgetting your promise to Dr. Grekov,” Nick calls after me.

            “No, I promised him if I wasn’t able to go, I’d send S.H.I.E.L.D.’s next best agents. So this is me officially saying that I am _not_ available to go.”

            “Natasha,” Nick looks at me sternly, “this is not something I’m going to debate with you. I need you to—”

            “No,” I cut him off. “I need to be done with anything related to Dmitri Tippens Krushnic. Come on, Clint, we’re leaving.” I let the knife slip from my grip as Clint and I make our way to the door. I scan my eye, type in my password, and we’re homebound.

            “Did you really mean all that?” Clint asks when we get in the car. “You’re not going back?”

            “I meant every word of what I said. No more ridiculously dangerous solo missions. Things got too out of hand and I can’t keep risking my life like that.”

            “Oh thank God. I love you, but do you know how much stress you cause me when you do things like this?”

            “I think I actually do now,” I smile. “I’ve learned my limits, so there’s no need to test them. I think I’m going to stay at home for a while.”

            “I think that’s one of the best ideas you’ve ever had,” Clint grins back.

            We spend the rest of the day at home, trying to relax. The feeling of relief is almost overshadowed by the apprehension of what’s coming. I know I said I wouldn’t go, but honestly, given some time to think, that may change. Of course, I can’t admit that to anyone because Clint would do anything in his power to keep me here, and Nick would do whatever he could to get me to go. I’ll admit I’m intrigued by the idea of a secret society, but I don’t know if that’s enough to get me to return to Russia. Besides, I’m not even fully healed yet.

            The following afternoon, I receive an urgent call from Jemma.

            “Agent Romanoff, the final part of your cure is ready. Though, after your last emergency visit here, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for you to get it,” she scolds.

            “Jemma, we had a deal. You know nothing, remember? I’m fine. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

            “Yes, but—”

            “No. I will be there in half an hour, and you will be giving me that final dose. Got it?” I snap.

            “Yes, ma’am,” she reluctantly agrees. “See you soon.”

            We drive into work for hopefully the last time this week and head straight for the lab. Jemma fidgets with her coat, refusing to look me in the eye.

            “Jemma, you seem nervous. Are you okay?” Clint asks.

            “I’m fine. It’s just personal stuff. I’m gonna go get a nurse.” She awkwardly retreats into the back office bank as quickly as possible.

            “There’s definitely something wrong. Did you yell at her again?”

            “Why do you assume it has something to do with me?” I retort.

            “Nat, she barely looked at you.”

            “Fair point. But you heard her—it’s personal stuff.”

            “Sure it is.”

            One of the various nurses comes into the room with a syringe and a band-aid. This one’s a bit odd; she doesn’t talk much—or often, at all—and asks us to remain quiet in usually not so many words. She gives me the shot, slaps the band-aid on the injection site, and leaves as quickly as she came.

            “Well that was strange,” Clint remarks.

            Jemma shuffles back into the room, looking anywhere but me. “You should be good to go now. The doctors recommend 24 hours of bedrest, just to prevent another reaction like the one you had last week.”

            “If they think it will help, fine. Thank you, Jemma,” I smile.

            “No problem,” she mumbles as we leave.

            Surprisingly, I actually do spend the next 24 hours in bed. I may grumble about being useless, but sometimes it’s kinda nice to have your husband take care of you. In all that time, I only threw up once, and my body had the terrific timing of waiting until the break between episodes where Netflix automatically loads the next one. Clint just laughed at how proud I was to only miss the intro. I feel a bit better, but not quite as well as I had hoped I would. Clint is downstairs making lunch Monday afternoon when my phone rings again.

            “Hello?” I ask, unsure of who would be calling me in the middle of the day.

            “Ms. Rushman? It’s Karen from Dr. Peterson’s office. I’m just calling to remind you of your appointment today at 3.”

            “Of course. Thank you. I’ll see you in a few hours.” I throw some clothes on and go see what Clint’s cooking. After a delicious lunch of paninis and fresh fruit, I realize I’ll have to leave soon if I’m going to get to my appointment on time. For security reasons, I see a doctor over half an hour away from our home.

            “Where are you going?” Clint asks when he notices me putting on shoes.

            “I have a meeting with Nick. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

            “A meeting with Nick already? What’s it about?”

            “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out when I get there.”

            “Well, just don’t let him talk you into doing anything crazy.”

            “I’ll do my best,” I laugh. “I love you.”

            “Forever and always.”

            I really hate lying to Clint, but hopefully after this, I can finally tell him the truth about what’s wrong with me. Besides, if my hunch is right, I might start showing more noticeable symptoms soon.


	23. Chapter 23

            As I walk out of Dr. Peterson’s office, I feel numb. Part of me was expecting this, but somehow, I’m still in shock. I get in my car and finally break down, no longer able to stop the tears from flowing. After a while, I wipe my eyes and head home.

            I trudge through the front door, my mind reeling. How do I even start this conversation? Can I bring myself to repeat what the doctor told me?

            “How’d your meeting go?” Clint asks as he walks into the living room, drying a freshly washed glass. He looks up to see my red-rimmed eyes and vacant look. The glass shatters as it hits the floor, the dish towel doing nothing to protect it. “What happened?” he asks urgently.

            “You… you might want to sit down for this,” I croak.

            “Is Nick sending you back to Russia?”

            “Clint, I didn’t go meet with Nick.”

            “I don’t understand. Where were you?”

            “Please, sit down.” I gesture towards the couch and then gently lower myself onto one of the cushions. Clint slowly joins me, avoiding the broken glass as he makes his way across the room.

            “I’m _so_ sorry for not telling you sooner, but I just… I couldn’t bring myself to tell you before it was officially confirmed.”

            “Nat, what are you talking about? Where did you go?”

            “I was at the doctor’s office. I… I had some tests run.”

            “What kind of tests?” Clint speaks slowly, apprehensively.

            “Tests for things that I never imagined…” I swallow hard, “that I never imagined would happen to me.”

            “Are you… okay?”

            I shake my head, tears threatening to overflow again.

            “Nat, whatever it is, we can get through it. Together.”

            “Do you remember when I got really sick about two months ago?”

            “Of course. I told you to see a doctor, but you refused.”

            “Well, I wasn’t… You see…” I trail off, still not sure how to phrase it.

            “Natasha, what is it?”

            “Let me back up a bit more. In the Red room, a lot of terrible things happened, and I had to learn to accept what they had done to me.”

            “Yes, I know. But what does that have to do with—”

            “Please, let me get through this,” I gently interrupt. “They experimented on us, often without fully researching what they were doing or thinking about the consequences. Their… _meddling_ has caused issues in the past, and this is yet another thing they screwed up.”

            “You’re scaring me. What happened?”

            “I’ve suspected it was more than just a mere illness for a while now, but I couldn’t believe it was true. I didn’t think it was possible—no one did—but I guess we were all wrong. I’m so full of scar tissue from everything my superiors did to me, but somehow, that didn’t matter. I just… I wish I had known for sure before I went to Russia again, because now—” I break down again, leaning into Clint’s shoulder.

            “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he whispers roughly.

            I nod slowly, wiping away tears. “If only I had known what Dmitri would do to me, I never would have risked it. And now, there’s nothing I can do. Up until about two weeks ago, I was pregnant.” My voice breaks, the last word hardly more than a whisper.

            “But how? This… this doesn’t make sense.”

            “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter anymore. All the drugs Dmitri pumped into me severely damaged the fetus. There’s… there’s no heartbeat,” I choke out. I can’t bring myself to see Clint’s face, but I know exactly what it looks like. This is like our conversation on the plane, only this time, it was real. Against all odds, we were going to have a _family_. Tears trickle down my face, soaking into Clint’s shirt. I watch a single tear fall from his chin and finally force myself to look up.

            Clint’s face is hard, anger furrowing his brow. His eyes are moist, but furious. He stares off into the distance, surely seeing nothing but the man that caused this.

            “Honey? Talk to me,” I plead.

            “I—” he takes a deep breath, “I don’t know what to say.”

            “I understand that this is a lot to take in at once, and I’m so sorry for not telling you the truth sooner. I just didn’t want to give you any false hope and—”

            “Nat, I’m not mad at you,” he whispers gently. “I understand why you wanted to keep this to yourself until you were sure. I’m mad at Dmitri for ruining this for us, at Nick and Bucky for not protecting you better, at—”

            “Nick and Bucky had no idea what was going on with me. This is Dmitri’s fault, and partially mine.”

            “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for everything.”

            “No, this is on me, too. I had a hunch, but failed to confirm or deny it before accepting this mission. I put myself into this situation.”

            “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

            “But I should have prepared myself for the worst. I should have turned this mission down, or at least asked for a little more time to go see a doctor first. I should have—”

            “Enough. We can’t go back and change the past, so it’s no use to talk of things we ‘should have’ done. As tough as it will be, we’ll get past this. And hey, if it happened once, it could happen again. Next time, we’ll know better.”

            “If there _is_ a next time. Would we even have been ready for this? I mean, my God, Clint, how would we take care of a child? I know this is something you’ve always wanted, and I suppose a part of me deep down hoped it could happen, but with our jobs the way they are, how could we handle this?”

            “I know you hate not working, which is why I would be willing to take the time off to raise our child. The world could survive without me for a while.”

            “Clint, I could never ask you to do that.”

            “You wouldn’t have to. If we ever are lucky enough to conceive again, I will not hesitate to step down from my position as an Avenger.”

            My jaw drops. “No. That’s not fair to you. We could take turns, and if we’re both needed on a job again, we have friends who could watch our child.”

            “You would really be willing to do that?”

            “Of course! Clint, I love you more than anything in the world. If we have a child, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure both of you are as happy as possible.”

            Clint smiles wistfully, his fingers brushing back my hair.

            “What’s that look for?”

            “Natasha, I love you more and more with each passing day. Every morning I think there is no possible way my love for you can grow, and yet it does. Defying direct orders from S.H.I.E.L.D. the day we met was the best decision I have ever made in my life, and I’m eternally grateful you chose to trust me, too. Even when we go through tough times, I know we’ll stick it out and be there for each other until the end. Am I sad we’re not bringing a life that is equal parts you and me into the world? Of course. Will I let that keep me from loving you and doing everything I can to make things right? No way in hell.”

            “What did I ever do to deserve you?” I whisper, stunned by his proclamation.

            “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong; _I_ don’t deserve someone as amazing, brilliant, beautiful, and talented as you. Natalia Alianovna Barton Romanoff, I have always loved you, and I always will.”

            I smile at him, tears filling my eyes. “Forever and always.”


End file.
